Head or Heart
by Max Novella
Summary: What would Booth do if he had to choose between his partner and his son? How far would he go to save them? Complete. Please provide feedback to help with sequel!
1. Chapter 1 & 2

New Authors Note: THIS IS A REPOST

I am currently working on another Bones story, and I wanted to recirculate this story again first. The feedback I got the first time around was amazing, and hopefully I can reach a new audience this time around as well; maybe some new Bones fans that were converted during the previous season! I am in the process of continuing the story as a sequel, but am also intrigued by my newest idea for a stand-alone story as well. I'm hopeful that more awesome feedback will inspire me to focus my creative efforts one way or another.

Enjoy!

Max

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Head or Heart

Chapter 1

"Wow," Seeley Booth stated, waving his hand uselessly in front of his face as he choked on a caustic mixture of smoldering metal and burned flesh. "I've smelled some nasty things in a parking garage before, but I never knew one could make my eyes burn this bad."

His partner stopped and looked at him, her own eyes beginning to water from the residual effects of a charred vehicle in an enclosed structure. "The fire department has cleared us to be here, Booth. There shouldn't be any residual elements that would cause a long-term negative effect."

He was blinking rapidly, trying to dispel the irritation from his eyes, and only managed to let it creep into his voice. "I know they've cleared us to be here, Bones, but that doesn't mean it doesn't stink to high heaven." He pinched the bridge of his nose between his eyes before opening them and resuming his original course through the garage.

"What have we got?" Booth asked the uniformed officer next to the remains of a once fully viable sport utility vehicle.

"Fire was called in an hour ago by the garage attendant. The alarms set off pretty quick, and by the time he got here he couldn't even tell what kind of car it was." The officer shook his head. "Took the fire department a half an hour to get it out."

Brennan was already peering into the driver's side door while concurrently pulling on a pair of rubber gloves. She set her bag down and r working on rentlgingerly fingered a large depression in the driver's skull.

"What is it?" Booth asked, staying close enough to hear her but further towards the rear of the vehicle in order to minimize his exposure to the putrid air around them. She would always mumble, in her endearingly thoughtful way, as she assessed a body for the first time, and he normally hovered close at her elbow so he didn't miss a thing.

Booth loved to watch the myriad of different emotions that would play across her features while she made her initial assessment. She paused now, studiously observing subtle differences in the victim's physiological make-up, and for a brief moment his attention was diverted to the vehicle itself.

"The victim was female, mid to late thirties. Height approximately 67 inches. There is a large depression in the anterior section of the cranium, which we will probably find was inflicted before the victim died." Her finger traced the depression in the bone.

"Most likely this cranial trauma will be our proven cause of death." She finished her initial findings and pulled herself back to remove her gloves. Feeling something slightly amiss she turned to see Booth, brow furrowed, several feet away and staring wordlessly at the rear of the vehicle. Normally she felt his warm breath on her neck as she worked, and the absence of his presence and full attention now was an obvious and unwelcome change from their normal routine.

Brennan turned to the uniformed officer nearby. "Have the body transferred back to my lab at the Jeffersonian, along with the driver's door so we can test it for particulate matter."

She observed her partner as she joined him at his side. His face had grown more taut, and he was now peering intently at the blackened remains of a bumper sticker.

"We'll need to get back as soon as possible so Hodgins can get started with his analysis. And Zack is going to need some extra time in order to clean the charring from the bones so we can…."

Booth's earlier aversion to the car was instantly gone, as was his fascination with the bumper sticker. In two long strides he was back around to the driver's side and swinging the rear door open.

"Booth? What are you..."

"Bones, is there a body in the backseat?"

She looked at him, bewildered at the frantic tone underlying the absurdity of his question, and momentarily apprehensive at the intensity of his gaze. "What? Why would you think there would be another body..."

"DAMMIT BONES!" Impatient, and slightly manic at this point, he retraced his path to roughly grab her arm and pull her back towards the rear door. "Is-there-another-body-in-the-backseat?"

Brennan stared at him for a long moment, taking in the pleading eyes and suddenly agitated state. He had never treated her with such disregard, and although he had been unnecessarily rough with her she didn't question his motives. If he were this insistent it was only because he had good reason to be.

Obediently she turned and searched through the rubble remaining in the rear seat of the car. Almost immediately she observed the vestiges of what was once a small booster seat, still in place where it had once been safely strapped in. Now the seat belt was melted into the seat around it, and the molded plastic of the seat itself had been reduced to a bubbled mass of toxic fumes. Understanding suddenly washed over her, and for a fearful moment her panicked emotions mirrored that of her partner's. The victim had a child, or at least was traveling fully equipped for one.

Thankful eyes closed briefly as she turned to face her partner, shaking her head slightly and speaking in that soft tone reserved only for him. "No, there is no one else in this car with her."

"You're sure?" He questioned, running his hand through his hair, growing more agitated by the moment.

"Yes, I'm sure," she replied quickly, puzzled at his lack of relief at her assessment. "I think you should know that I know a body when I see one, Booth." She paused for a moment, taking in his distress. Eyes wide, face white, with a small sheen of sweat on his brow and upper lip.

"Booth," she began cautiously, "what is wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with me? What's WRONG WITH ME?" He echoed, his voice rising slightly with each word as he positioned himself right in her face. His voice lowered somewhat as he spoke again.

"This car is Rebecca's car, Bones. More than likely that corpse is Becca," he jabbed towards the car with his index finger.

Brennan stared at him, aghast. "Rebecca?" she whispered. "_Your_ Rebecca?"

He winced, noticeably, but didn't reply.

"How do you know it's her?"

"And this," he continued as if he hadn't heard her, his attention moving to the opened door and pointing to the molten plastic, "is Parker's booster seat."

He was pacing now, like a caged tiger ready to pounce. She knew that look; it only happened when he was trying to make sense of something that just didn't add up and was frustrated with his inability to put the pieces of the puzzle together. She jumped as he pounded his fist against the side of the car.

"Booth!"

"This is Parker's booster seat," he repeated, quivering slightly.

He strode over next to the driver's side door, and to his partner's horror pointed at the corpse inside. "This, this right here?" He shook his finger at the skull and then stared into Brennan's eyes as his own grew wider.

"This is..." He paused, looking back at the body, as if the gravity of the situation had finally caught up with him. "This is the mother of my child," he finished softly, voice about to break.

"So where is my child?" he asked, turning back to face Brennan. The look on his face made her heart want to break. His eyes were filled with the pain and horror of loosing someone who had once been so important; who had once been the center of his universe. They were also filled with the confusion that comes when it is realized that things are not as they should be.

"Booth, you don't know for sure that this is Rebecca. We won't know that until we can verify the identity of this individual."

His eyes were threatening to spill over with tears he didn't want to give credit to. He wiped them away with the back of his hand, staring again at what he knew would turn out to be her body.

"I know it's her, Bones."

His lack of logic was crying out to be corrected. Although his "gut" had served them well on many occasions, he just did not have the experience necessary to be able to determine identity from looking at a corpse. He could not possibly be able to facially reconstruct a victim, no matter how many crime scenes he had observed.

She was prepared to launch into a discourse of all of these reasons why Booth's logic was flawed. To explain to him that there were far more possibilities of this not being Rebecca than it actually being her. That she had ultimate faith in science, and science alone, to comfort her with its laws, certainties, and answers. That putting her trust in it had served her well through all of the difficult periods in her life. And that only in recent years had her complete faith been expanded to now include two items: science and Booth.

The source of her faith was now struggling. She had seen him wipe away the tears that had been in danger of falling, and her heart ached at the possibility, however slim, that this may in fact be the mother of his child. Her thoughts of extolling the science of the situation were wiped out of her mind completely when she heard Booth's voice from a recent memory in her mind.

"Head or Heart."

She reached out to grab his hand instead, offering him all of the support and strength she could offer. He gripped it tightly for just a brief moment, then righted himself and shifted into what Angela called his "G-Man Mode". He pulled his cell phone out and quickly began punching numbers, pausing only a moment before speaking.

"Shelly, it's Seeley Booth. Is Parker with you today, by chance?"

He paused a moment, his eyes closing at her apparent response. "Okay, just checking. No, everything's fine," he lied, voice slightly quaking at the effort. "Yes, I'm sure I'll see you soon. Bye."

Booth snapped the phone shut, tapping it against his chin and wildly trying to come up with any other plausible explanation for where his son might be.

"Babysitter?" Brennan asked.

Booth dropped his head. "No, that was Rebecca's mother I just spoke to. Rebecca sometimes drops Parker off with her if she needs to run errands."

She could hear the defeat beginning to creep into his voice and tugged at his sleeve, her protective instincts taking over. "Come on, Booth, there's nothing more we can do here now."

He seemed hesitant to leave, and found himself staring at the body once again as the FBI forensic team began the process of extricating it from the vehicle.

"And there's nothing you could have done before, either," she cautioned, already seeing him begin to blame himself. "Let's confirm the victim's identity as soon as possible and go from there," she finished softly.

Booth finally nodded and tossed his car keys to her, the gesture itself saying more than any words could convey. "You'd better drive," was all he said.

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Chapter 2

"Oh my god," Angela gasped as she took in the blackened body before her on the examination table. "Booth seriously thinks this is Rebecca?"

Brennan nodded silently, face grim as she continued her assessment of the body and successfully ignored Angela's nervous chatter. Positively identifying the victim had been difficult to the extreme, as all of the teeth had been removed post-mortem and the hands had been purposefully singed to prevent fingerprinting. A dispatch had been sent to retrieve Rebecca's medical records, Brennan's mind still desperately holding on to the possibility that they would eliminate her as a victim rather than prove her identity.

Her index finger followed the slight curve of the victim's right tibia, noting evidence of a prior break that had been cleanly set, and her mind began to wander slightly. The ride back to the Jeffersonian with Booth had been excruciatingly long. She had guiltily realized that this was the only instance in which he had ever let her drive, and the current circumstances behind the otherwise momentous event had made her too nauseous to even enjoy it.

Booth spent the whole drive on his phone, effectively ignoring the concerned glances she had occasionally thrown his way. He first called the FBI to utilize his official contacts and follow the chain of command, and then coordinated with a few of his unofficial friends at the Bureau to physically check Rebecca's work, home, and other known places of interest. His greatest hope, she knew, was that eventually Rebecca would return his call, and laughingly explain how she and Parker had spent the day at the park away from her phone.

It was only as they approached the Jeffersonian that Booth finally snapped his phone shut and sat silently in the seat next to her. She looked at him as she put the vehicle in park and opened her mouth to speak, but he stopped her.

"No."

"No, what?" she questioned.

"No, I don't want to talk about this," he declared, opening the passenger door and quickly getting out before she could reply.

Brennan gathered her things from around her and opened the driver's door.

"But Booth…" she tried again, but again he raised his hand to cut her off.

"Bones, please. Don't do this right now," he had begged, eyes pleading for her not to prod any further.

She had hesitated for a brief second, then simply nodded dumbly and retrieved her bag, moving away to walk towards the entrance.

"Hey, wait," he finally managed, and reached to grab the corner of her sleeve and gently draw her back to him. She turned, unsure of what to expect from his sudden hurricane of emotions. 

The blank stare that had settled upon his strong features such a short time ago had been temporarily replaced by a certainty that surprised her, as did his next words.

"I know you can tell me what happened to her, Temperance. I need you…," his voice had broken only for a slight moment and his eyes dropped from her face momentarily before he righted himself.

"I need to you tell me what happened," he had paused, his voice evidence of the confidence and faith he had in her. "Only you can. I need you to help me find my son."

Her partner's words still echoed in her ears. In all of the previous cases she had worked, she could not recall any that had caused her to demand of herself such a single-minded focus. Brennan would admit almost every day that she was a professional workaholic, and she always demanded excellence of herself and her team. Very rarely did she ever allow herself to become emotionally attached to the cases they worked on, and in those few instances she had always wished afterwards that she had listened to her highly developed sense of rationale and kept her emotions away from her work.

The simple fact that her partner fully believed that this was Rebecca was enough for her to attempt to bend the earth backwards around its axis in order to prove him wrong. The care and concern she felt for him translated to a vicarious pain when he was hurting or suffering, and in this case she felt both. There were very few things she would not do for her partner, and if she could somehow put his mind at ease that this was not Rebecca it would seemingly be better to do it sooner rather than later.

Now, hours later and sheltered from the emotions she had felt when he had given her such open reliance and utter conviction, she looked up at her co-workers. Rebecca's medical records had just been dropped off and were now firmly clasped in Hodgins' hand as he approached the platform.

Brennan greedily grabbed the file from his hand before he had even topped the stairs. She had made it through only two pages before becoming very aware of four pairs of eyes on her back. She turned to see the rest of her team united in their obvious irritability. All four of them, Angela, Hodgins, Zack, and Cam, were glaring at her with their arms folded over their chests.

Angela, apparently, had been informally elected as the spokesperson. "Brennan, sweetie, you know we always give you plenty of room to work," she began. "We don't interrupt, we don't question, and we don't get in the way."

"Great. Then we're all in agreement," Brennan replied, growing increasingly more irritable herself as she tried to return to the documents in her hands.

Angela rolled her eyes and took a step towards the table. "You need to let us help you with this. You're not the only one that cares about Booth and we want to do our part."

Brennan shook her head, trying to keep the dismay from her tone. "That won't be necessary."

"Dr. Brennan," Hodgins began, stepping forward as well. "You really should let us do something to help identify the body. We NEED to do something here."

"No," she said, again shaking her head at the dumbfounded scientists in front of her. "What I mean is, it won't be necessary to do any further testing to identify the body."

She moved closer to the table, visually tracing the areas of the body as she continued. "The prior break on the victim's tibia, combined with the scarring in the knee tissue from two recorded surgeries, blood type, and the consistent comparison with recorded vital statistics would indicate that this is indeed Rebecca."

Footsteps on the stairs to the platform halted at her words, and all five of them turned to see Booth, security card drawn, preparing to swipe past security before hearing Brennan's evaluation. No one breathed as they waited for the agent's response, and the awkward moment seemed to last for an eternity.

Booth's arm dropped away from the card reader momentarily, his face a mask of angry stoicism. "Well, I guess that answers that question." His jaw was clenched, and his whole body seemed to be drawn too tightly, as if he were a coiled snake ready to spring at any given moment. His cell phone chirped at his side, and he answered quickly while finally swiping his card.

"Booth," came his standard greeting. "Yes, sir. The victim has just been identified."

A pause, then a slight change in his voice. "Yes, sir, it's her."

Another pause and the anger in his voice was now barely controlled. "Yes, sir, I understand. Please keep me informed." He snapped his phone shut and stared at it for a long moment.

"Booth?" Brennan questioned, trying to tread lightly.

He met her gaze, a mixture of anger and sadness clearly visible. "I'm now on administrative paid leave, officially off the case, and forbidden to consort with any and all investigative personnel."

END OF CHAPTER 2


	2. Chapter 3

"The Bureau has strict internal policies that prevent and preclude any investigator from being involved with, associated with, or assisting with an ongoing investigation into the death or wrong doing of any individual they are currently or have ever been personally involved with," Booth rattled off by memory.

Angela's eyes almost rolled back into her head. "Good grief, where did that quote come from, the G-man textbook? That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard."

"Look," Booth's frustrated eyes roamed around the room, staring at each of them in turn. "That doesn't mean a damn thing to me," he indicated as he shook his phone in the air. "My son is missing, and the FBI can just kiss my ass if they think I'm going to sit around and wait for them to find him."

He hesitated, only for a second, but it was enough for Brennan to interject an answer to the question he could not bring himself to ask.

"Booth, you know I'll do whatever I can to help, FBI or no FBI," she looked at Cam, who was still officially her boss, trying to gauge her reaction to the bold statement. All of them knew that to keep Booth in the loop, much less to utilize him, could mean severe ramifications to them all.

It didn't take long. Cam's gaze swept over them quickly, seeing that they were all in agreement, and drew herself up into the regal leader they had grown to respect. "Well, why are you all standing around? This isn't a party, people, we've got work to do. Let's get to it."

Booth watched the instantaneous whirlwind of activity around him, almost overcome with the effort that his friends were exerting. He knew his squints were passionate about their work, but he had now been stripped of his official capacity and was observing as a mere spectator. They were most likely treading on very thin ground, for if the Bureau discovered he had been allowed to continue with his unauthorized investigation, and that they had shared critical information with him, all of their careers could be compromised.

Angela walked by Booth and gave him a soft pat on the arm for good measure along with a small smile of reassurance before trotting off the platform. "I'll go start my renderings of the head trauma and see if we can determine exactly how she died."

"And I'll get started with the particulates from the vehicle," Hodgins offered.

"I'm going to get the skull and thoracic bones analyzed to help Angela with her renderings," Zack stated.

Cam moved towards the body, pulling on a set of rubber gloves. "I'll review the rest of the body for possible trace evidence."

A lull settled over the platform, and Brennan moved closer to Booth, still standing in the corner.

"Thanks, Bones," he offered with a small smile.

"We haven't found anything yet," she chided.

His smile grew slightly larger, a sight which Brennan found comforting. "No, but you're still looking. You all are, thanks to you. And if I know my squint squad, I know you will find something eventually."

She reached out to him, placing a warm hand on his arm. He covered it with his own and gave her another small smile. Booth's phone suddenly came to life at his waist, buzzing insistently. He grabbed it quickly, uttering "Booth" before the phone was even near his mouth. The mechanical sound of a computerized voice managed to register with his subconscious even before his conscious mind could process the words being spoken.

"Agent Seeley Booth," the voice stated, matter-of-factly, as if he were an old friend calling to chat.

Booth's heart stopped for a moment and he struggled to breathe. A computerized voice at the other end of the line now confirmed definitively that someone had taken his son. Momentarily he was assaulted with unwelcome and familiar feelings, remembering the horrifying night he had received the voicemail from the Gravedigger. The lack of inflection or emotion in the voice telling him Brennan and Hodgins would be dead less than twelve hours hence had chilled him to the bone.

A similar voice was now calling, he guessed, to either gloat about the death of his son or threaten it in the near future. He fervently hoped it was the latter but was instantly chilled again nonetheless.

"Yeah, I'm here," was all he could manage, throat suddenly dry.

"I suppose you know why I'm calling?"

"You want to know if I'm still a charter member of the jelly of the month club?" Booth fired back, his chest still aching from the pounding of his heart. He focused on Brennan, trying desperately to get his emotions back under control and drawing strength from her clear blue eyes.

The voice chuckled. "Ever the comedian, Agent Booth. I know about something that's not so funny. Want to take a guess what that is?"

"Why don't you just tell me, you sick bastard?" he spat.

Cam and Hodgins finally looked up from their work as Booth's curses drew them into the conversation. They each threw a questioning glance at Brennan, but she could only shrug wordlessly as she watched her partner grow increasingly agitated.

"This is just way too much fun for now, and we've only just begun!" the voice laughed heartily. "I've been waiting a long, long time for this, Agent Booth. And I just want to make sure you can share the joy with those who are closest to you, those that you love."

"Where's my son?" he growled through clenched teeth.

"You don't need to worry about him for now. He's perfectly safe, and will remain so. I'll call you at a later time to discuss the details."

"What?"

"Just be thinking of me, Agent Booth. Think only of me," the voice ordered.

"Wait a second," Booth began.

"Goodbye."

"No, wait...DAMMIT!" he cursed, throwing his phone against the examining table. It instantly shattered into little pieces, sending debris flying all across the platform. He rubbed his hands into his eyes, pressing his fingers deep into the sockets, hoping that the white stars he was beginning to see would melt away and take his current nightmare along with them.

"Booth," Brennan began, stooping to pick up pieces of cell phone shrapnel. She reached for the section with the display, crackling circuits protesting the effort. Quickly she wrote down the originating number before the display gave out completely. "Can we trace this number back to the caller?"

"We can," he offered, not opening his eyes and now allowing the white stars to progress into a full-fledged rainbow. "But ten to one it's a pre-paid cell phone with no ownership record. Let me call it in to the Bureau and we can…" he paused, realizing suddenly that the vast resources of the Bureau were no longer at his fingertips.

"I'm going to need a new cell phone," he stated blankly, eyes open and now looking at the pieces in his hands. "He said he would call back."

"Are you sure the caller was a male?" Brennan asked.

Booth nodded. "I can't be one-hundred percent sure, but the way he talked sure seemed like a male to me."

"Okay, then. I'll see what I can do about the phone number itself, you go out and get a new phone," she ordered.

"I need some other equipment too," he agreed. "I need to make myself available the next time he calls, but we also need to record the call and see if there is anything there that can help us."

He paused again, remembering his last similar experience. "And also because I highly doubt this kidnapper would take kindly to voice mail," he muttered under his breath.

END OF CHAPTER 3


	3. Chapter 4

Booth sat at Brennan's desk, diligently trying to attach the equipment he had acquired to her computer and phone line. His Army contact had laughed at the original request, but had changed his tone as he gazed on the intensity of Booth's face has he repeated it.

"No questions asked," he assured him. "You bring this stuff back when you're done with it and we'll call it good."

Booth had shaken the man's hand and returned his slight nod, the nod that former Army Rangers share when they know a fellow soldier is in the middle of a war at home. The man knew Booth was now an FBI agent, so the mere fact that he had turned to him stated that his official capacity was either not strong enough to accomplish his goal, or that his goal was not legal enough to be considered official.

Booth had loaded the gear into the back of his vehicle, but had tucked the small gun into the holster at his waist. His FBI issued firearm had been turned over to the Bureau along with his identification badge, and his gut was telling him that he would need the weapon at some point before this whole thing was finished. A sudden jolting pain in his index finger shocked him back to his current reality as a small trickle of smoke rose from the wire he was holding.

"Ouch," he muttered grumpily, sucking on his finger to make the small burn feel just a little bit better.

With one more twist of the offending wire he was finished, and he sat back slightly to admire his handiwork. He had managed to attach a digital voice recorder to Brennan's phone and computer, and had forwarded his cellular phone to her office number. When Parker's kidnapper called again, he would be able to record the conversation and the squints would be able to utilize the computer program to analyze the recorded call.

He chuckled inwardly at the thought that perhaps, in his own little way, he had just become a little bit squinty himself. A small smile spread across his face as he pondered about how very comfortable he felt in the lab, especially in Brennan's office. She and her team of squints had forged a large home in his heart, and the success of their teamwork never ceased to amaze him.

"Hey," his partner called softly from the doorway. She lifted her chin slightly and sniffed. "Is that smoke?"

He sniffed, then shook his head innocently trying to hide a smile. "I don't smell anything."

Her eyes narrowed as she took in the equipment now sprawled across her desk and the accompanying wires running in a nightmarish tangled mass. "What is all this?"

Booth looked down at his last hour's work and puffed out his chest slightly. "This will let me record the kidnapper's next call so your squint squad," he pointed lightly out the door, "can analyze the digital recording for evidence."

"Evidence?" she asked. "From a phone call?"

"Yeah," he began. "You know...things like trains or planes in the background, stuff like that."

She stared at him blankly.

"Come on, Bones. There's always background noise that can be analyzed." He stood from behind her desk and met her in the middle of the room. Her eyes shifted from him back to the mass of technology on her desk, and for a fearful moment she wondered which of them Booth would expect to perform this small feat.

"Oh geez, I don't know…Hodgins can listen for a certain type of cricket only found in a two mile stretch next to the Potomac River. Hell, I don't know," he huffed, dropping onto her couch and again rubbing his eyes as he leaned his head back.

She joined him on the couch, turning slightly to face him. "You should try to get some rest."

He shook his head. "I'm still waiting for my buddy at the Bureau to get back with me."

"The one who's putting together the list of possible suspects from your past cases?"

Booth nodded, meeting her gaze again with a small embarrassed smile. "Yeah. He, uh, said it's taking him a little bit longer than he originally thought."

At her partially confused look, he explained. "Seems as though through my years with the Bureau I've managed to piss off quite a few folks. Criminals, family members of criminals, cohorts of criminals, you get the idea."

He paused for a short moment. "There's any number of scumbags who would love to get revenge on me for one reason or another," he finished lamely, meeting her clear blue eyes with his own. "It's going to be a long list to sort through."

Brennan nodded sympathetically. "I'll help all I can. In fact, I came up to tell you that we determined an official cause of death for the victim," she caught herself and dropped her eyes, mentally kicking herself for her blunder. Mental detachment was the only method she knew of to get her through the day, but in this case it was not necessarily the best approach when discussing the brutal murder of her partner's ex-lover while investigating the kidnapping of his son.

"I'm sorry, Booth. I meant, we were able to determine that the fire...or...what I mean is, the cause of death was...determined to be...from the fire and...that the trauma to the cranium...although severe...was mostly secondary in nature...and..."

"It's okay, Bones," he nodded, reaching out to pat her knee gently to ease her discomfort. "I know it's easier for you to detach, so treat this just like any other case," he hesitated for just a moment, meeting her tender gaze with his own. "But thank you for caring enough to try to protect me," he whispered.

Her eyes watered slightly at his emotional words and she blinked, desperately trying to revert to scientist mode. Booth watched the transformation, fascinated by the many emotions that she managed to compress within herself. On the rare occasions when he had managed to catch a drop of a real emotion that spilled out of her serene exterior, he had happily provided broad shoulders of support. Even rarer were the occasions when their roles were reversed, which was probably why she was now struggling with the unfamiliar role of absorbing intense emotions from her partner.

She did want to protect him, more than anything. If she could have taken her gun and killed the bastard that had done this she would have happily done it, even if he would have been forced to arrest her afterwards and throw her in jail. At least then she wouldn't have to see that empty and angry look in his eyes; that was proving to be more difficult than any penal sentence could possibly be.

His voice from a not so distant memory sounded again in her ears, _"Take the brain, put it in neutral. Take the heart, put it in overdrive."_ Damn him.

"Booth," she began, taking his strong hand in hers. "I'm sorry about what happened to Rebecca. And I wish..." she trailed off, unsure as what to say.

He covered her hand with his. "Thanks Bones. I know."

She licked her lips, wanting desperately to finish her train of thought, but unsure as how to logically rationalize it. "If there was anything I could do to make this right, I hope you know that I would do it."

He nodded, smiling softly. "I know you would. You and your magic wand would be working overtime."

Brennan's eyes crinkled in confusion and he knew what was coming before she even said it. "I don't know what that means."

"You know what that means," he encouraged her, nudging her shoulder. "Remember when you were a little girl, and you pretended that your fairy godmother came and waved her magic wand and turned you into a princess?"

She stared at him. "You really are more like a girl."

"Come on Bones," he became more active, almost like his old self, while he stood and waved his arms in the air. "Cinderella? Sleeping Beauty? They both had fairy godmothers with magic wands. They just waved their magic wands and made everything better."

Her head cocked to one side. "I think I understand. And yes, if I had a mythical wooden instrument that possessed unearthly fictional powers I would definitely use it to attempt to remedy the situation." She sat back, completely satisfied with herself and her understanding of the concept.

It was Booth's turn to stare. He closed his eyes and shook his head, laughing softly to himself. "Yeah, Bones. I think you got it."

The phone on Brennan's desk rang, an unwelcome intruder into their quiet conversation. He lunged for the phone and punched the speakerphone button so she could hear as well.

"Agent Booth," the metallic voice sneered, grating on her nerves instantly.

"Yeah, I'm here. I want to talk to my son," he demanded.

"You are not in a position to demand anything."

"I want to know that he is okay."

"I told you before," the voice said, a hint of impatience creeping into his voice, "he is safe, unharmed, and will remain that way for now."

"Then what do you want?" Booth asked, fearful of the answer.

"I want to make you suffer."

Booth paused for a brief second, meeting Brennan's gaze. "Well, you've succeeded at that. Now let me have my son back."

"HA!" the voice spat. "You have no idea what suffering is. I want you to suffer like I have."

"And how is that, exactly?" he was hoping to draw out something, anything that would help him link this voice to a tangible, physical person. People, he could deal with, either through his fist or his gun. Phantom computerized voices just scared him, for a myriad of reasons.

"I want you to think of me every day. When morning comes, before you even open your eyes, I want you to think of me and how your life will never be the same because of me. I want you to know you are responsible for decisions that will ruin your life and cause you unquestionable grief, despair, and give you nightmares for every night that you spend on this earth."

Booth's face had gone completely white as the voice spoke, and for a moment Brennan was afraid he might faint. The moment passed quickly and his face rapidly became a fierce shade of red.

"Now listen here, you bastard," Booth was seething. "I don't know what kind of sick game you're trying to play, but I want you to know this: if one hair is harmed on my son's head I will hunt you down to the ends of this earth and there will be no talk of suffering, just one well-placed bullet in your forehead."

"Well, I see that we understand each other. Until we speak again, just think about one more thing. How much do you love your son?"

Booth's mouth opened but he was unable to respond, and within a microsecond the call was over. She was afraid he might destroy another phone with his barely suppressed anger, but instead he took a deep breath and pressed the button to turn off the speakerphone. His hands gripped the edge of her desk, knuckles turning white.

Brennan had wondered about notifying the FBI of the call Booth had received before, and she was almost certain that her partner would now call the Director. Yet she was still almost fearful to broach the subject. She had not been sure of his response to anything since this whole ordeal began, but she knew requesting the FBI's help could only get Parker home sooner.

"Booth," she began hesitantly, "I think you need to notify the FBI of what's going on. They could only help, at this point."

His head was hunched, chin almost touching his chest, when she saw him give a barely discernable nod of his head in agreement.


	4. Chapter 5

_Okay - this must be important because I have seen everyone else do it. These characters do not belong to me. They belong to Fox, or Kathy Reichs, or whoever else actually owns them. No infringement intended. These are just great stories we share with each other because...well, who knows why we do this?_

_This is my first fanfic, so I would appreciate feedback. I've found over the last week it's much easier to keep writing a story when you know there are people out there actually reading and enjoying it. So any reviews are greatly appreciated. (Good or bad - I'm an equal opportunity review-reader!)_

_Please enjoy - If I may say so, it's just getting good!  
Max_

CHAPTER #5

Brennan's tired eyes watered as she parked in her designated spot. Her pleading with Booth for a trip home to shower was only partially to clean up, as they were indeed both becoming ripe from over twenty four hours straight of investigations and emotions. But it was also a chance to simply remove herself from the situation and from him for a short period of time. Long enough in order to better separate herself from his emotions, wash away the remnants of the day before, and begin the day anew and back on task. She simply worked better that way.

Her mind and body were tired, but she knew a brisk shower, a change of clothes, and a few good strong cups of Brazilian coffee would remedy that. Her building was quiet as she waited for the elevator, since the few neighbors that she did have typically didn't emerge until well after eight a.m. and it was barely now six.

Today, in particular, she was thankful that her apartment was on the top floor and that both of her direct neighbors were out of the country. The last time she had dragged in at six a.m. after a particularly horrendous case, Mrs. Russell, an older woman with a spinster attitude, had filed a formal complaint about Brennan's pull-behind laptop bag, stating the noise it made on the tile hallway caused her undue pain and suffering as she was sure it was an intruder. Brennan was sure that the formal complaint had more to do with the verbal berating she had given the old woman for being so nosy and less to do with the actual noise in the hallway.

As such, she heaved a sigh of relief when the elevator pinged its signal for her floor. Grateful that she did not have to worry about disrupting Mrs. Russell's beauty sleep, she crossed the tile floor, keys in hand, heels clicking loudly behind her. Just as she had inserted her key into the lock and moved to open the door she felt a presence behind her.

Quickly she spun around, to see a dark clad figure rushing towards her. Protection instincts took over, despite her already weary mind and body, and the adrenaline rush proved to fuel her response. His arm shot out to strike her, but her sudden awareness of him allowed her to dodge the blow and he hit the wall instead. He was quick with his follow-up, grabbing her by the hair with his other hand and slamming her up against the doorframe, causing her chin to crack against the hard wood.

Slightly dazed, she felt him roughly shove her against the wall and realized he was pulling her arms behind her to handcuff them only after she heard the associated clicks. Unwilling yet to submit, but knowing she was dangerously overpowered with her arms incapacitated, she desperately threw her head back, grunting and feeling a sense of satisfaction when she felt the back of her head make contact with his nose. Immediately she turned, and with another grunt she issued a roundabout kick that sent her assailant sprawling backwards across the hallway.

Hastily she ran towards the stairs, briefly wondering how she could manage to make it down four flights of stairs with her hands behind her back and not fall and break her neck. He answered the question for her. She had just reached the top of the landing, still running, and was primed to take the steps two-at-a-time, if need be, when his arm shot out and roughly grabbed her by the ankle. With her arms unable to break her fall, Brennan felt as if she were falling in slow motion. She closed her eyes, remembering that her partner had mentioned once that it helped.

Finally, with the eventuality that she knew was coming, her body finally made contact with the hard surface beneath her, her head smashed against the corner of the step, and all suddenly went black.

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"Agent Booth, why didn't you forward this information on to us immediately after receiving it?" Director Cullen was asking, hands crossed genially as he sat behind his desk.

Normally the calm and collected agent would have squirmed in his seat under such a negatively direct question from his supervisor, but as the hours had dragged on Booth had found his body and his mind growing increasingly weary. The anticipation of waiting for another call at any moment from some psychopath that was holding his child, combined with over twenty four hours without sleep, as well as his current irritability with all things FBI, proved to be a troublesome combination where careers were concerned.

"Well, sir, I guess I just figured that since I was officially no longer a part of the FBI I didn't have any responsibility to follow department issued protocol," he snipped.

"Don't get smart with me, agent," he warned.

"I don't even try, sir. That's my partner's job."

"Dammit, son, what is going on here?"

"What's going on? What's going on?" Booth's voice raised a notch with each syllable, until his body mirrored his intonation and he was standing over the director's desk, squarely yelling into his face.

"Watch yourself, Agent Booth," Cullen warned again, sitting back slightly at the intensity displayed on the young man's face.

Booth dropped his head slightly, his ingrained respect for his superior taking over out of reflex. "I'm sorry, sir, but this…this is the hardest thing I've ever had to go through. I just...I just don't know what to do."

Cullen's chair snapped up, his voice slightly softer than before. "I know, son. Believe me, I know. At least there is a tangible enemy in this equation. Someone that we can find and eliminate."

Booth knew that he was now talking about the ordeal he and his wife had faced with the death of his own daughter, who had been infected with cancer after receiving a tainted bone graph. "At least there is still a strong chance that your son will come back to you safe and sound," he finished.

"Yes, sir."

"In the meantime, you need to go home and clean up," he ordered. Booth started to protest, but his boss waved him off. "You smell like crap, and you're wearing the same clothes you had on yesterday. I'm not going to waste my breath telling you to get any sleep, but for god's sake at least go home and shower."

At the agent's wry smile, he demanded, "What's so damn funny?"

"Well, sir, it's just that Bones...er, Dr. Brennan and I just had this exact conversation about an hour ago," he admitted.

"And obviously she was right."

"Yes, sir. She's the one that wanted to go home and shower."

The older man huffed. "Now there's someone that has a good head on her shoulders, squint or no squint," he paused, again taking in Booth's disheveled appearance.

"Call in an hour. I'll have our forensics lab analyze this copy of the tape you brought in and we should have some results by then. And give the team your cell phone for a few minutes before you leave. We'll use actual reliable Bureau-issued technology from now on to monitor future calls if that's okay with you."

Booth knew the last comment from his boss was not to be taken as a question, and that he was also not soliciting input. "Does this mean I am off of Administrative Leave?"

Cullen looked at him as if he'd just asked if the earth was still flat. "You were removed from official status when it was confirmed that your ex had been killed. Now we know that the same person, apparently, has kidnapped your son? How would you ever think you would be reinstated?"

"But sir, I..."

"No 'buts' allowed. When we find this bastard and it goes to trial, the defense will destroy our case if you are involved in any way and that is unacceptable."

Booth's jaw hardened and his eyes grew cold, which did not go unnoticed by the older man. "And I also know you're probably thinking right now that this might not ever even make it to trial, and let me just give you a warning, Agent Booth..." he paused until he finally made eye contact. "There is absolutely no room for a vigilante in the FBI, I can guarantee you of that. Off the record, if you choose to pursue this case on your own, your employment here will be terminated."

His jaw was still set, and his hands gripped the arms of the chair with barely restrained frustration. "Is that all sir?" he managed.

"Yes. Now go home and get cleaned up."

Booth walked out of the room, not looking back.


	5. Chapter 6

_**Author's Note: Okay, this story had begun to take on a life of its own and is winding up way longer than I originally anticipated. I think it's necessary to do the story justice though, and hope you'll continue along with me until it's completed. The rest of the story may be kind of a wild ride, so hang on!  
Reviews are always appreciated!**_

Chapter 6

"Booth," he answered his phone, trying to drive with one hand while drinking coffee with the other and sending a fervent prayer that it wasn't currently the kidnapper on the other end of the line. His mental capacity had become somewhat clearer after an energizing shower and a cup of hot coffee, but he knew he was still more lethargic than normal. Aside from that, he was already driving erratically in his haste to get back to the lab to see if his equally revitalized partner had come up with any new evidence.

"Booth! Thank God!" He could hear the relief in Angela's voice, but his confusion at her heightened emotional state and the fervency of her tone caused the hairs on the back of his neck to begin to tingle. "Why haven't you been answering your phone?"

"Angela? I was in the shower and I'm just now leaving my place. What's wrong?"

"Is Brennan with you?"

Dead silence filled the line, and the slight twinge of hairs on his neck suddenly turned to an awful sense of dread and foreboding. He almost didn't want to answer her, in the hopes that by avoiding the question he could also avoid the answer Angela was all too plainly laying out before him.

"No," he managed, after he had been able to slightly catch his breath. "Isn't she at the lab with you?" he asked dully, already knowing what her response would be.

He could picture her shaking her head on the other end of the line. "She's been gone over two and a half hours. She's never gone that long just to go home and shower, Booth."

His mouth opened to comment, but it was so dry he could not utter a word. Not that it would have mattered for she continued before he could interject. "Cam just got a call from the local police department. Apparently someone called in that there was some sort of disturbance in her building earlier this morning."

Booth cranked the wheel, reversing his course. "I'm on my way there now, Angela."

"Booth, what if..." she began.

"I know," he cut her off, not needing Angela to name the fear that had suddenly clutched at his heart making it difficult to breathe.

Within fifteen minutes he was at her apartment building, and the closer he got the deeper the pit in his stomach dropped. Throwing the gear into park, he jumped out of the vehicle and made a beeline for the entryway.

"Whoa there, buddy. You can't go in," an overweight, uniformed cop stuck his hand into Booth's chest at the main door to the building. "We've had an incident here, in case you haven't noticed," he drawled sarcastically.

"Yeah, I have noticed," Booth growled. "I'm Special Agent Seeley Booth with the FBI, and my partner is Doctor Temperance Brennan. She lives in this building and I need to get through, so kindly step aside." He moved past the officer, who stopped him again with a strong arm.

"Hold on there, slick. I'm going to need to see some identification."

Booth automatically reached into his coat for his identification badge, then reverted to panic mode when he suddenly realized that he didn't have any official means of identification, and therefore no official reason to be there.

The uniformed cop, meanwhile, was pleased to know that he had prevented an unauthorized person from accessing a crime scene, and proceeded to pontificate on the subject.

"Yeah, yeah, that's what I thought, buddy." He put his thumbs into his belt loops and waved Booth off. "Step aside, now, and let the professionals do their job." Dismissing him, he turned slightly sideways to ward off another possible intruder onto the crime scene.

Booth's mind began to race, desperation taking hold. The apprehension at what he might find inside her apartment building had quickly filled him with fear. She would either be missing, with no rhyme or reason like Parker, or she would be...his eyes closed and a flash of her body, burned like Rebecca, flitted through his mind. Nausea threatened to overwhelm him and he had to momentarily lower his head between his knees. _God, no. Please, no,_ he begged.

What had the kidnapper said in that first call? He racked his brain, trying to remember as small pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place... "_I just want to make sure you can share the joy with those who are closest to you, those that you love..."_

Obviously he loved Parker, that much was apparent. And because of his love Parker had been kidnapped. But his partner? Did the kidnapper really know how close he was to his partner? And if it was because of their relationship that she was still alive at this point versus being brutally murdered, did he really care?

Nausea began to transform into frustrated anger. He had to know the fate of his partner. Evidence could be screaming out at him, just upstairs out of his "official" grasp. If this damned knucklehead of a beat cop was going to stand in his way, he'd just have to take him out. He moved around him again, taking off at a run through Brennan's lobby to the elevator.

"HEY YOU!! STOP!!" the uniform shouted.

Booth made it to the elevator bank and managed to jab the "up" button before the uniform grabbed his jacket from behind. Without thinking and without remorse, he spun around and punched the officer square in the jaw, sending him flying backwards just as the doors opened. He jumped into the open elevator but the relative safety of the doors closing behind him did not offer him much comfort. Officers always had radios, and he knew his presence and his recent assault would be common knowledge by the time his upward journey was completed.

Indeed when the soft "ding" of the elevator signaled the fourth floor, the doors opened revealing three uniformed officers with their guns drawn. Booth raised his hands over his head, knowing he was defeated and could not possibly fight or talk his way out of the situation.

"You're under arrest," the first officer stated. "Turn around and put your hands behind your back."

"Agent Booth!" he heard a voice bellow from the lobby. He strained his head to see the source. His boss, of all people, had been standing next to the uniformed city policeman and was now striding towards them.

"He's with us. I'll take it from here, thank you," he ordered the uniforms gruffly, grabbing Booth by the arm and steering him further into the hallway.

"What the hell are you doing here, Agent?" Cullen demanded.

Booth could not directly answer right away. His attention was instead directed at the foyer leading into Brennan's apartment, his eyes greedily taking in all the evidence he could see as they walked into the crime scene.

_Her key was in the lock, door partially open. Attacker caught her by surprise on her way in.  
__Large concussive hole in the plaster next to her door. Blow of some kind landed there.  
__Small blood smattering next to the doorframe. Something soft hit the wood and the blood spattered onto the wall._

His mind and stomach recoiled at the thought of the "something soft" being Brennan's face, but the blood spattering was at just the appropriate height on the wall next to the doorframe to fit that hypothesis.

_Small spattering of blood on the tile floor in the foyer. Spattering trajectory is towards the elevator._

He smiled slightly to himself. If Bones had gotten jumped by attacker, she had at least gotten a good lick or two in.

"Agent Booth?" Cullen was still waiting for a response.

"Yes, sir?"

He was growing impatient with the younger man. "What are you doing here?"

"Dr. Saroyan received a call that an incident had been reported at Dr. Brennan's home. Since she was overdue back at the lab..." he trailed off, eyes following the moves of the other agents as they catalogued evidence.

"You just took it upon yourself to come and investigate," he finished.

"Sir? Is she here? I mean..." his voice faltered briefly as he swung his eyes back to his boss. "Is there a...a body?" He almost choked on the word.

"No," Cullen answered, and Booth let out a rush of breath he didn't know he was holding. "We're treating this as an abduction, based on the evidence. But you, Agent Booth, have to leave this crime scene RIGHT NOW."

Booth wasn't listening, in fact he was walking directly through the middle of their crime scene, transfixed by something he hadn't seen right away. He peered over the edge of the stairs, aghast at the sight before him. A large stream of blood had trickled down the last four steps on the staircase, creating a pool on the landing below. Whatever had crashed into the step had created quite an impact, as the blood spatter reverberated not only across the whole staircase, but up several inches on the wall as well.

The starkness of what he assumed to be her blood against the bright white walls was mirrored in his eyes as his anger finally took hold and became his dominant emotion. He had tried to remain calm and rational while searching for Parker, mostly tempered by her mere calming presence but heavily supported by her scientific data and rationale. Now that she was gone, maybe bleeding to death in the hands of the same psychopath that had taken his son, the only feeling he had access to was the raw, primeval desire for action-oriented revenge.

She was gone, and along with her had vanished the last semblance of control that Seeley Booth had precariously been hanging onto.


	6. Chapter 7

"What do you mean you haven't found anything?" Booth demanded, taking turns glaring at each of his squints. "You guys have been here for hours and haven't turned up a damn thing?"

Angela, eyes red-rimmed with the official notice that her best friend had been kidnapped, took offense to the agent's accusatory tone. "Hey, look here, Mr. Big Shot G-Man. We spent the night here trying to find something, anything that would help you find your son. And that was before I found out that my best friend has gotten wrapped up into this and is missing now too."

She accentuated her anger with an emphatic point into Booth's chest. "What have you been doing all this time, besides moping around about how much you miss your son? If you were any sort of good agent you should have known this psychopath would use Brennan to get to you too!"

His eyes flashed fire, feelings of guilt at Brennan's disappearance twisting into a myriad concoction of anger when stoked by Angela's accusations. "And just how do you propose I should have seen this coming?" he said flatly, in a tone so low she could barely hear make out his words.

"Should I have used my awesome powers of mind-reading?" he unconsciously advanced on Angela as he spoke, forcing her to walk backwards. "Or maybe my supernatural ability to teleport myself to where the kidnapper is to have a long introspective conversation with him about his overall goals for this series of kidnappings?"

Angela was now next to one of the examining tables and had nowhere else to go to escape the magnitude of anger and hurt emanating from his eyes. "What, exactly, do you think I possibly could have done, Angela?"

His face was now merely inches from hers, body pressed as close as possible without directly touching her, fists balled into tight wads of frustration. For the slightest moment, he saw fear flash through her eyes. Hodgins edged closer, wondering how he would ever possibly protect her from Booth but wanting to be close enough to try if necessary.

"What should I have done?" he asked softly, the realization of her fear causing his anger to subside somewhat. Now it was replaced by a pleading that broke her heart. "Should I have really seen this coming?"

Slightly ashamed at the verbal berating she had just issued, she reached down to take one of his hands. His fist uncoiled to allow her own small hand inside. "No, Booth," she said softly, shaking her head. "There isn't anything you could have done. None of us saw this coming."

Angela placed a warm hand on his cheek, willing him to look her in the eye. She knew her anger had been misdirected at him instead of the man who had taken her friend, and that his own feelings of guilt would be enough to destroy him without adding further ammunition.

"I'm sorry," she admitted. "I shouldn't have said those things. I know you love her too and would have done everything possible to protect her if you'd known she was in danger." He nodded, giving her hand a slight squeeze. "I'm sorry, Booth," she said again, leaning in to wrap her arms around him in a tight hug until his phone began to buzz.

"Booth," he answered, already knowing who would be on the other end.

"Agent Booth," his caller stated, the same sense of arrogance obvious even through the computer manipulation of his voice.

"You Bastard," Booth cursed softly. "I'll kill you for hurting her," he promised, no one in the room doubting for a moment the sincerity of the vow.

"I did not set out to harm Dr. Brennan. I merely had to...forcefully negotiate with her."

The word 'forcefully', along with thoughts of her dark red blood on the white tile stairway caused Booth's nostrils to flare once again with pent-up anger. Giving this psychopath any further indication of his emotional reaction, though, would only feed into his demented mindset. It took every ounce of will power he had to slightly calm himself.

"What is it that you want?" he asked, wearily repeating his question from the previous day and hoping this time for a better response.

The caller laughed, a mirthless laugh filled with sarcasm and disdain. "I already told you, Agent Booth. I want you to suffer. I thought I made that abundantly clear."

"You did. I'm just wondering how you're hoping to measure my level of 'suffering'."

He laughed again. "I don't need to measure. I have an exact plan that will guarantee it."

Booth was silent, desperately trying to wrap his mind around the unbalanced explanation.

"Let me explain a bit further," the voice offered. "This is what will happen now. I am going to call you back in exactly twelve hours, at ten this evening. At that time, you will inform me of your decision."

Brow furrowed, Booth shook his head in puzzlement. "And what decision is that?"

"The decision of which one you want to live, your son or your partner."

His breathing stopped, his mind reeled and he was physically unable to speak.

"Agent Booth? Are you there? Or have I finally rendered you speechless?"

"No, I'm here," he whispered, feeling the curious looks from the squints at his physical reaction to the ultimatum. "What do you mean I have to decide?"

The voice sounded weary when it spoke again, as if it were tired of having to explain its advanced state of reasoning to an individual with a lower level of intelligence. "You cannot save both of them, but whichever one you pick will be returned to you safely without confrontation and without further ado."

"And the other?" Booth questioned, already feeling sick at the answer he knew was coming.

"Will be killed. By your own hand," he added.

"By MY hand? How the hell did you make that leap?"

The voice laughed, yet again. This time the laugh was filled with genuine delight. "Agent Booth, you are such a simpleton. I'm surprised Dr. Brennan has been able to utilize such genuine patience with you all these years." The voice paused for a moment before delivering what he knew would be the key to Booth's undoing.

"The decision is yours, and yours alone. The results of your decision will stay with you for the rest of your life, and either way you will be faced with the knowledge that you sacrificed one of the people you love most in life. I know that is not something that you will tread lightly with, and THAT is what I mean by suffer. No measurement necessary."

Booth was momentarily unable to speak, physically rendered mute by the finality of the situation.

"Well then, I'll trust that you understand your dilemma and I will leave you to do some much needed..."

"What did I do?" Booth interrupted finally. "What did I possibly do to you to cause you to think of something like this? To kill an innocent person just to achieve some warped sense of revenge?"

The voice was silent for a moment. "You have twelve hours," he said, then a click of disconnection.


	7. Chapter 8

Brennan knew the instant before her head hit the stairs that the blow could very easily kill her. When she began to slowly regain consciousness several hours later she was halfway surprised. The ringing in her ears began as a soft buzz, as if her cell phone was ringing in the next room. The soft buzz quickly transformed into a menacing pain, forcing her painfully back to consciousness. Her head had exploded. There was no other word to describe the concussive forces that had caused the trauma in her brain; the same forces that were now causing that brain to feel as though it were pounding its way out of her ears.

Her eyes wouldn't open. She couldn't make them open. Her arms wouldn't move. She wanted to make the buzzing stop. She wanted to cover her ears with her hands and make the painful pounding go away but her arms wouldn't listen to the meek pleas her brain was making. Her body hurt all over.

Several minutes passed, and Brennan desperately tried to remember what had happened. She remembered falling...and before that, going up the elevator to her apartment...and before that driving there from the lab...and her conversation with Booth...

"Booth!" her mind screamed, although she knew her throat had not uttered a sound. Her eyelids flashed open for a brief minute and her body jerked to awareness as the events of the last day came crashing back down around her. The pain caused by the sudden movement produced an involuntary cry that escaped her lips.

"Just relax, Dr. Brennan," a quiet voice murmured from the shadows on other side of the room.

She jerked upright quickly, again causing a shower of pain to cascade around her head and shoulders. She swung her feet off of the small bed she had been laying on and launched herself off it, not knowing where she was or where she was going but trying desperately to protect herself from this faceless stranger. Her body, however, had other plans for her. The second she was vertical, just after she threw herself off the bed, she collapsed.

Strong arms caught her as she went down, and her head lolled to one side. She hated being this vulnerable, but at the moment the physical pain was overriding anything that her strongly conditioned mental capacity could formulate. She couldn't make her body obey, and it was painfully clear that her battered body was now giving the orders.

"You're going to hurt yourself if you don't listen to me and relax," he warned, gently placing her back on the small bed and covering her with a warm blanket. She hadn't realized that she was shivering, and she clung to the warm blanket as if it would offer some protection that she could not provide herself.

Gently he raised a straw to her lips, and she greedily drank the water offered. His warm fingers briefly pulled her eyelids apart, and thousands of shades of pain assaulted her again when he shone a light into each of her eyes.

"Yep, you've definitely got a serious concussion," he stated, gently propping an ice pack on the left side of the pillow against her swollen head. "It's only been a few hours, so don't move around anymore like that or you'll pull out the stitches."

Brennan's mind was working overtime trying to make sense of her current situation, but the pain was just too great. Her mouth no longer felt as dry as the Sahara, and she feebly tried to speak.

"Who…are…Where…I…" she tried, but she could not yet form a coherent thought out loud.

"Don't worry, you just rest for a few more hours. We'll talk more when you're able," he promised, gently moving a stray piece of hair off her forehead. He tucked the blanket around her and moved away. When the light had been turned off, she allowed the blackness and the comfortable feeling of unawareness overtake her once again.

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"Charlie, I need the rest of those lists NOW!" Booth stormed, snapping his phone shut and pacing back and forth directly to the right of the platform.

Zack looked at Hodgins, who glanced at Angela, who shot a strong look back towards Cam. They were worried about their friend. BOTH of them. Brennan was gone, kidnapped by some madman, but Booth was right here in front of them and as of yet they all felt equally ineffective.

The momentary high they had experienced an hour ago was all but gone now. Hodgins had discovered new particulate granules in the sample of blood taken from Brennan's hallway. Excited to think they may finally have a lead, they were deflated when it was soon proven that the particulates were from the flower bed just outside Brennan's home.

He had been overjoyed to tell Booth they had some new evidence, and had been just as tormented when faced with the prospect of taking that small shred of hope away from him. Literally before their eyes the man had sunken within himself, the strong man they all remembered now gone behind the dead and listless eyes. Although they had finished with every test they could possibly run on Rebecca's remains, her car, and now the evidence from Brennan's apartment, they could not bear to convey to him that there was nothing else they could do.

Instead they continued to appear busy, randomly testing small areas of bone and peering at just about anything they could look at under the microscope. Booth, for all of his emotional turmoil, knew of their ploy. While he appreciated their efforts to conceal from him the futility of the situation, he wished they would stop staring.

He knew the exact second they determined there was nothing else they could do, that there was nothing else to look at or test. It would have been obvious to any observer because they simply stopped. They all stopped what they were doing and stared at each other. He pretended not to notice, found something else within his piles and piles of old case files to fixate his attention on, and eventually they silently made the decision to keep working anyway. He didn't know if they were just retracing everything again to double check, or if they were just performing busy work. At this point he didn't care.

Charlie, his inside contact with the Bureau, had finished compiling several lists of prior cases he had worked on. Earlier Booth had eliminated anyone that was still serving time behind bars. The odds of someone orchestrating this scenario from within incarceration, though plausible, was not very probable. Most of his attention was now focused on the incomplete list of current parolees. For some reason his gut was telling him what he needed to know would be found there. He had relied on his gut many times before, and just like Brennan's science it had never let him down. The list was incomplete, however, and he knew Charlie himself was also working overtime to get the completed list to him as soon as possible.

He looked at his watch for the umpteenth time that day.

1:23 pm.

Less than nine hours.

He rubbed his bloodshot eyes, quickly saying the same fervent prayer that had become his internal mantra all day. _Please, God. Please help me find them._ His cell phone chirped, and he dreaded answering it until he realized it was Charlie calling back already.

"Charlie, have you got it?" A slight pause. "Yeah, send them over to the Jeffersonian. And thanks, man, I appreciate it." He hung up and turned to see the squints staring again. Caught, they dropped their gaze and went back to work.

"We're going back over everything again, just to make sure we didn't miss anything else from Dr. Brennan's apartment," Zack explained.

"Good," Booth stated, grabbing two of his case files and his car keys. "You keep doing that. I'm going out to bust some heads."

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Coming back didn't hurt as much this time. Her head still throbbed, her eyes burned, and her ears were ringing like church bells, but she could open her eyes. The ice pack next to her head had long since become warm, and the room temperature gel felt uncomfortable against her tender scalp. Gently she raised her arm to dispose of it and stopped short when she felt a stabbing pain in her side. She sucked in a deep breath and tears formed in the corners of her eyes.

"Three broken ribs, too," the voice murmured from the corner.

Brennan's eyes flashed to the dark corner, barely able to distinguish a silhouette in the shadow. More careful this time, she gingerly rolled herself over to a slight sitting position. He advanced on her, again coming out of the shadows, and she flinched involuntarily.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he promised.

"You already did," she managed to mumble, lips again dry and throat parched. He reached for the cup of water again, holding it up to her lips.

"No, you are mistaken. I never wanted to hurt you. I just needed you to come with me in order for my plan to work."

Eyes painfully darted up to meet his. The man before her was tall, strong, but nondescript. Passing him on the street would not have registered in her mind. His eyes appeared to be intelligent, but a hint of malice was barely visible beneath a thin veneer of humanism. "What plan?" she breathed.

"My plan to make your partner suffer," he explained, as if she should have already known his motives.

Her heart constricted, adding to the pain already taxing her nerve endings. This was him. This was the man that had murdered Rebecca, kidnapped Parker, and generally made life a living hell for the man she cared most about in the world. Eyes narrowed, a gesture that the man did not overlook.

"This angers you, as I knew it would. But it will not be the last of your anger, believe me," he promised. His hands moved to the side of Brennan's head, intending to check her wound, but she slapped his hand away.

"Dr. Brennan, I am an experienced medical doctor. Who do you think did such a fine job on those stitches?"

Her trembling hand rose to feel the side of her head, and through the blood now matted into her hair she could indeed feel nine or ten neat stitches, tender to the touch. She was confused.

"I'm assuming you're planning on killing me. Why take care of my injuries like this? It's not logical," she surmised.

"That remains to be seen, my good doctor. The choice of whether or not I kill you is not mine. It is your partner's."

"What?" she questioned, confused, then panicked as a sliver of fear began to take shape within her chest, spreading with great intensity by the second. "Where is Parker?" she demanded.

"He's right next door. Do you want to see him?"

"Yes," she insisted. He turned, went to the door, unlocked it, locked it again behind him, and returned in less than sixty seconds will a very healthy-looking Parker.

"Bones!" he yelled, then leapt across the room to join her on the bed, face buried in her arms.

"Parker," she gasped, overcome with joy to see him alive and well, and racked by pain from the force of his body being pressed so firmly against hers. "Are you okay?" she managed to whisper.

She felt him nod in her embrace. "Is my Dad okay?" he asked timidly.

"Yes, he's fine. Why did you ask that?"

He hesitated, and for a moment her mind whirled. Had something else happened while she was unconscious? Had this man already hurt Booth?

"I think he hurt my Mom, and I thought maybe he had hurt my Dad too," Parker whispered.

Brennan's heart broke. At some point, Parker would have to be told that his mother was dead. But that was something that she would make sure that he would hear from his father, when he was safely back in his arms.

"See?" the man interrupted. "He is perfectly safe. Come on, Parker, let's go."

Brennan's arms tightened protectively around the scared little boy. "Let him stay here with me. It serves no purpose to keep us separated, and will just cause further trauma to him."

The man pondered her statement for a moment, then shook his head. "If you want to minimize the trauma to him, you should let me take him back to his room."

"Why?" she asked, warily, watching his eyes take her in and study her.

"Because we have some further things to...disuss."


	8. Chapter 9

It was almost 4:30 and he still didn't have a complete list of suspects. From the partial list he did have, the only two suspects that had even been conceivable both had strong alibis during the time that Brennan and Parker had been kidnapped. He had determined that during his "visit" to each one in turn, and had no reason to doubt they were telling the truth. After all, when an angry FBI agent shows up on your doorstep and points his gun up your nose, why would you lie? Nevertheless, he double-checked each alibi and they were both exactly as the men said they were.

_I'm running out of time._

It had been over thirty six hours since he had slept, and more than eighteen since he had eaten. He had endured longer stints than this as an Army sniper, but somehow the mental anguish of this made anything he ever did as a sniper pale in comparison, and easily made the last day and a half more unbearable than anything he had ever experienced.

Until now he had not allowed his mind to even remotely accept the possibility of a world without either Parker or Brennan in it. As the minutes ticked away on his watch and he was still no closer to finding them, he had begun to concede that if he failed he would most likely never see one of them again. It was then, while driving back to the Jeffersonian in the solemn quiet that should have been punctuated with a livid discussion with his partner or lively chatter with his son, that Booth finally accepted what might happen.

He did not allow himself to break. That, he knew, would happen at 10:01 pm this evening if he did indeed fall short. But he finally acknowledged and accepted that he needed to be ready with a decision. There was no question or hesitation in his mind what he would tell the kidnapper. He knew from the moment the ultimatum was given that he would do whatever he could to protect his son, and that he would forsake anything and anyone else to keep him safe and get him back.

_I just never imagined ever having to forsake her._

The kidnapper was good. He had to admit that. If this man wanted to inflict a lifelong pain upon him, there would have been no better way to accomplish the feat. He definitely knew what he was doing, and even Sweets would have to consider the man's mental prowess to be superior in its own warped way. Despite the fact that Booth had absolutely no hesitation in choosing his son over Brennan, the thought of being responsible for her death by his own decision made him want to put a bullet in his head.

There too, the kidnapper had accomplished his goal. He may have actually considered ending his suffering if he would not be a single parent when this was all over. He would not be able to even consider the option, for he would never leave his son alone. Instead he would have to carry the burden, and the nightmares, with him all of his days.

He cringed at the thought of telling Parker that Rebecca was gone, and grew equally angry at the thought of the kidnapper telling him. Did Parker already know? Were he and Bones together? Was she able to comfort him if he did know? Were they both really okay?

He shook his head to clear away the thoughts that were useless at the moment. What little cognitive brain power he had left he needed to channel into his investigation. Although he had only...he looked at his watch again...five hours and fifteen minutes, he had solved cases in much less time when things began to roll. Maybe, just maybe, the squints had managed to come up with something.

They were as weary as he, and at this point had much less power than he to be able to actually do anything. But they were smart, and though he constantly teased them about not being able to think outside the box, they always astounded him at their ability to work together as a team and use each other's strengths to create "alternative hypothesis".

And if worse came to worse, the team would join around what was left of their center when he finally broke, and they would grieve together as a family.

_Please, God. Please help me find them..._and now, for the first time, came an unbidden prayer from deep inside that he hadn't wanted to acknowledge. _God...if...if I don't find them...please be with her. Please comfort her where I can't, and let her know that...I'm...that I'm sorry. Please don't let her suffer._

His foot pressed down on the accelerator.

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Cullen was waiting for him at the Jeffersonian. Booth had just returned and hadn't even taken off his coat when his boss lit into him. "I see you didn't put much stock in my warning to stay away from this case," he glowered.

"And you squints," he continued, pointing at the exhausted team on the platform. "You are all in big trouble for sharing classified case information with an unauthorized individual."

Zach tentatively raised his hand. "Um, sir?" Cullen didn't respond, just continued to glare.

"We haven't shared any unauthorized information with Agent Booth." Cullen's eyebrows rose, and he was just about to warn the young scientist of the dangers of lying to a federal agent when he continued.

"To do so means we would have had access or possession of knowledge that Agent Booth did not already have access to himself, and thereby transferred our aforesaid knowledge to him without authorization. As we have uncovered no further information through the course of these examinations that would in fact post-date the day and time of Agent Booth's placement on Administrative Leave, we have therefore not compromised the integrity of either this institution or of Agent Booth." Zack's face was slightly red, having completed his entire discourse without the benefit of a breath.

Hodgins face broke out into a wide smile as he clapped the young man on the back. "That's why he is the undisputed King of the Lab," he said proudly. At Cullen's continued glare he added a quick, "Sir," and removed his hand.

Booth himself could not suppress a smile, and gave Zack a cursory nod, appreciative at the young man's honest recount of the last day.

"Is that true, Agent Booth?" Cullen turned back towards him, gauging the man's eyes for the honesty of his answer.

"Yes, sir. They haven't found anything else that has been added to the case file."

"And if they had?"

"Then I would have been the first to know about it, sir." More honesty. No sense lying to the man.

"I see," he nodded his head. "Well then you might need these," he offered, handing Booth the box of case files he had carried into the building. "Charlie went home to bed. He's been up since 3:00 this morning putting these together for you."

Booth began to panic, fearing for the career of his friend. "Sir, Agent Williams was unaware of my status when I called him..."

Cullen raised his hand. "Booth, I don't want to hear it. As far as the Bureau and I know Agent Williams was completely following protocol. What you do with these files will only reflect on you, as only you and I and a handful of people are aware of your status," another glance at the squints followed.

He stared at the young agent for a moment, fingers thoughtfully stroking his chin. "But I do feel it necessary to repeat my previous warning. If you do indeed find this guy, as your supervisor I cannot officially condone a vigilante response. You will be expected to notify Bureau personnel in order to authorize an official response to any findings you may uncover."

Cullen took a step towards him and leaned in slightly closer in order to provide a private venue between him and Booth. "Unofficially, as a man with a family of my own, if you find this bastard and you can get to him in time..." he paused, "I would be very disappointed if you did not handle it the manner I think you would."

He leaned back and gazed at the agent for one more long moment before giving him a slight nod and turning to stride out of the lab.


	9. Chapter 10

**_AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hope these couple of updates are enough to keep you for awhile - most likely will be early next week before the last few chapters are ready to come out. I appreciate all of the reviews I've received, and I can tell some of you are really getting vested into the story. I take that as the ultimate sign that I've done good work. If anything that I write can trigger an emotional response I've done a good job. Hopefully the remainder of the story will do it justice. Keep letting me know how I'm doing, and I'm glad you're enjoying it!_**

Chapter 10

In the interest of time, Booth had separated all of the files from the box into four piles, one each for Cam, Angela, Hodgins and himself, while Zack kept toiling away on the platform. At first, every few minutes was punctuated by Angela or Hodgins thinking they had the right guy, using his "creepy" photograph or past history as their reason why. It was only after Cam had patiently explained to them that most of these guys did indeed look creepy, but that was not considered real evidence used to formulate a list of potential suspects. And that most likely other information was present in the file that would eliminate him as a suspect, such as meeting with his parole officer yesterday morning in California. That, for example, would place him out of the state at the time of Rebecca's murder and Parker's kidnapping, and they could thereby eliminate him as a suspect.

They had grown quiet in the last hour, plugging away through the files and having to settle with making a pile of "potential" suspects to be reviewed by Booth using Cam's explained means of elimination. Cam looked at her watch...6:13 pm.

The file was at the very bottom of the box, and had somehow wound up in Booth's pile. It had taken Booth over an hour to go through the twenty-five files on top of it, and none of the suspects from the cases seemed to fit the profile. All of the other individuals had been angry at Booth for arresting them, of course, but did not appear to have enough motive to seek a personal revenge like this.

Memories of each case had come back to Booth as he reviewed the files, and he was growing increasingly weary of rehashing the last six years of murder investigations. When he opened the last file in his pile and stared at the picture attached to the inside cover, the immediate twist in his stomach told him his gut had finally found his man.

The case had happened in his first year with the Bureau, and had been ugly from the beginning. A young woman had been found dumped in the woods, some thirty miles out of town in the mountains of Virginia. The body had been badly decomposed, having been partially exposed throughout the winter, and a pair of spring hikers checking out the National Forest trails had found the body some four miles up the mountain from the trailhead.

The FBI forensic team had examined the body, and determined the cause of death to be blood loss after her throat was slit. The body had been buried, albeit shallow, in the forest and had been scavenged by every sort of predator. Evidence gathering had been sloppy on this particular case, the forensic team struggling with the spring thaw in the mountains and the resulting environmental mess that it caused. Brennan would not have even given it any considerable thought, and would have been as perfect in that investigation as she had been in all of their other cases. Looking back now he wished he had been partnered with her at the time.

Booth knew that the good doctor was the killer, despite the lack of evidence tying him to the body and the presence of another angry suspect, the victim's fiancee. The investigation had been flawless on his end, and he had put together enough information to prove the man's guilt beyond a reasonable doubt, at least to himself. But he still had no evidence tying him directly to her murder.

He managed to piece together that they had been having an affair, the young woman just having finished medical school and being assigned to his hospital for her residency. He also managed to discover that the doctor was deathly afraid of his wife leaving him, for he had previous "dalliances" in his past and she had stated it would not be tolerated again. The victim, apparently, had discovered she was pregnant and believed the baby to be that of the doctor's, and had confronted him with the news the night she disappeared.

The doctor's wife had been very cooperative with his investigation, and surprisingly was not too upset when informed that her husband had added one more notch to his bedpost. He had asked where she could be reached in case of further questions, and she had told him she and her son would be leaving town to stay with her parents for awhile. That was the last time Booth had seen them.

The victim's fiancée had managed to put two and two together. The most obvious target of his anger could not be reached behind bars, and so he decided to end his own life in the same fireball that ended the life of the doctor's wife and son. The fiancée had driven her car off of the highway and both vehicles had ended up as a single fireball in the nearby culvert, all three dead at the scene.

Booth had to deliver the news to the doctor, and the look on the man's face when he was finished was something he would never forget. It became apparent to him now that the same look that he had seen on the doctor's face that afternoon he had only ever seen in one other instance: this afternoon in a Jeffersonian bathroom gazing back at him in the mirror.

"This is him, it has to be," he said softly, the few brief seconds of remembrance finished now that he had a tangible, physical suspect. "This is our guy!" he pointed emphatically, surprising the other three through the silence. Finally, he had a lead, something to do, and somewhere to go.

He jumped up and hit the door out of the lab running, case file in one hand and cell phone in the other, puzzled squints forgotten in his wake.


	10. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Night seemed to be coming earlier and earlier to the D.C. area. Autumn had teased and flirted with mild temperatures and then finally settled in, each passing day seeming to be shorter and colder than the one before. Today had not been a material deviance from the area's normal weather pattern, but complete darkness had already succeeded in enveloping the city by only seven-thirty PM.

Normally a pleasantly crisp evening such as this would have been ideal for dragging Brennan off to some outside destination. Although the majority of their excursions were typically to crime scenes, Booth had always allowed himself the liberty of using any reason at all during this time of the year to get her out of the lab in order to achieve that wonderfully pink flush in her cheeks. It was a breathtaking complement to the bright sparkle that would form in her eyes when she realized Booth's true motives to extricate her from the lab, and the resulting effect her gaze would have on him always served as an effective warming agent.

At this moment though, driving in the silent, frosty twilight, all Booth could feel was the damp coldness all around him, absorbing all the way through his heavy wool coat to his bones.

_His Bones._

His foot pressed slightly harder on the accelerator, the vehicle already careening perilously around nearby traffic as it plowed through the dark night. He inwardly cursed the effect of an earlier sunset, thereby slowing down traffic somewhat and making drivers more aware of the chilly conditions. The mantra his mind that had been endlessly repeating throughout the day had shifted somewhat in the last fifteen minutes, morphing from an almost resigned prayer of goodbye to a pleading query of divine intervention: _P__lease, God. Let them be there. Please let me find them and save them both._

He recognized several other cars as he turned off his lights and let the vehicle roll to a stop in the street outside the doctor's home. A small cluster of agents had gathered on the street side of the fence, and Booth knew another group would be covering the back door simultaneously. He drew his acquired gun from the waistband of his jeans and took a position near the head of the group by the fence.

No one dared voice the question to him about the appropriateness of his presence; in fact Booth knew the agents to his right and left would have only questioned his absence. They all supported him wholeheartedly and would have been guilty of the same actions had it been their family in danger.

_My family._

Fingers fumbled through the night to pass a protective vest to him, and mindlessly he slipped it over his head and fastened the straps. The signal was given, and they advanced on the house. He could hear the agents entering with a crash through the back door well before they had reached the front. Lights began illuminating each room as it was cleared by the agents, and when Booth finally crossed the threshold into the front foyer, he was rendered speechless.

The entire drive he had prepared himself for the myriad of possibilities he might encounter. The worst case scenario he had replayed over and over again, whereby the doctor was spooked and enraged when he heard the doors come crashing in and Booth was left with nothing but two bloodied and mangled corpses where his life used to be. The best case scenario he barely dared to hope for, knowing that it was highly unlikely they would catch the doctor off guard enough to take him down without a fight or without harm to either of his captives.

He was prepared for the best and worst case, as well as everything else his mind had come up with that would fit neatly between. But nothing could have prepared him for the stark reality that now stretched out before him.

The house was empty.

Completely, spotlessly, virtuously, empty.

Vacant.

Devoid of life.

Easily mirroring the gnawing pain in his own soul.

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He couldn't look them in the eye when he arrived back at the lab. His own heart had been cut to the quick with the realization that his last possible lead had been a dead end. The thought of witnessing the last of their hopes being washed away by his expression was something he would rather not have burned into his memory. He mumbled something in passing that only Cam managed to decipher as "empty house", before tiredly going into Brennan's office and flopping down into the chair behind her desk.

As much evidence as possible was being collected from the doctor's house and brought to the Jeffersonian, but they had no idea of how long it had been since he had actually been there. And whatever evidence was found would take hours to test. They didn't have hours. They had...Cam looked at her watch again...only forty-five minutes left.

The rest of the lab techs dispersed as quickly as they had come together upon seeing Booth's arrival, with the exception of Angela, Hodgins, and Zack. Cam gently waved them off, staring into Brennan's office and observing the countenance of the exhausted FBI agent within. Her heels clicked on the hard floor as she approached him, and he raised his head from his hands to fixate his red-rimmed eyes on her.

"Seeley," she stated tentatively, trying to feel out how he would respond to her.

"Camille."

She pauses for a moment, tactfully trying to gauge his emotions. "It's after nine."

He nods his head slightly then drops his eyes to stare at his hands as he rubs his thumbs together. She approaches him from behind, placing a soft hand of support on his shoulder, anxiously hoping to convey the sorrow and sympathy her heart was feeling. Not only for him and the position he was now in, but also for the grief they would need to share for their partner and colleague.

He reaches up with one hand, squeezing hers slightly, gratefully accepting the comfort of a friend at his worst moment. "Do you want to talk?" she offers, halfway hoping he will decline but knowing that the effort was necessary.

He didn't disappoint her. "No." A slight pause, and then, "Not right now." His eyes trail over the wall to the clock, each passing tick feeling like a separate dagger through his heart.

The phone on Brennan's desk began to ring, momentarily distracting Booth's obsession with the clock. Puzzled, he verified the accuracy of the clock he had been memorizing with his wristwatch. It was only nine-thirty. Was the doctor calling early to put him out of his misery? If that was the case, should he even answer the phone if by avoiding it he would lengthen Bones' life even a half an hour?

He looked at Cam, desperately hoping she could offer some sense of rationale and logic, both of which he had sorely missed through the absence of his partner.

_Come on, Booth. Just get it over with, _he could hear Brennan urge, as if she were standing directly beside him.

He knew it was what she would want him to do. His fingers reached out to snatch up the phone from its cradle. "Booth."

"Agent Booth? This is John Shaw with Jeffersonian Security. I'm at the security desk at the main entrance to the museum." Booth could hear the hesitation in the man's voice. "I think you should get over here as soon as possible."


	11. Chapter 12

**_Author's Note: Thanks so much to all of you that have hung in there with me. I appreciate all of the positive reviews I have received, as well as the constructive suggestions. I'm sorry this has taken so long - I didn't realize what would be involved in order to do justice to the story the way it unfolded in my mind, and this has run way longer than I originally intended. Sorry for the "cliffie's", but I promise a few more chapters and we'll be all done! I hope you'll enjoy the next few chapters, and as always reviews are definitely appreciated and encouraged!_**

Chapter 12

Booth's heart pounded as he ran down the last hallway to the main entrance. It had never been necessary for him to traverse through the entire museum, much less when it was as dimly lit as it was after normal business hours. All of his trips to the museum had been thus far limited to Brennan's lab, and his unfamiliarity with the floor plan was now adding to his urgent frustration.

The security guard had not given any details, just insisted that he come right away. His mind flooded with the possibilities, wondering for a terrifying moment if the doctor had changed his mind and sent a "gift" from one of his victims ahead of schedule. He rounded the last corner, his heart and lungs nearly bursting from his chest from the exertion and anticipation of what he would find.

The security guard saw him coming and stepped out from behind the desk, motioning to someone behind him that was sitting in a chair next to the wall. It took Booth only a moment to recognize the light brown curls, and he nearly fell at the boy's feet as his eyes filled with tears.

"Parker!" he gasped, before grabbing him off of his chair in a tight hug and burying his face in his hair. "Oh my god," he sobbed. "Parker...are you okay?" He pulled himself back slightly to check him over for injuries.

"Are you hurt? How did you get here? Do you know where you were? Where is Bones?" His questions were coming too fast and too numerous for already scared little boy, and his eyes began to well with tears.

Booth's heart constricted. The decision was immediate; he needed be a father first. The impatient and heartbroken FBI agent that would still be desperately searching for his missing partner could wait for just a few more brief moments in order to relish the fact that his son was indeed alive, well, and here in his arms. All that mattered in this moment was that his little boy was safe. He pulled him into another strong protective hug, closing his eyes and sending a silent thanks to God for answering one of his prayers. "It's all right buddy. It's okay, you're with me now."

Several long seconds passed. "Daddy," Parker finally whimpered. "Where's Mommy?"

Booth opened his eyes but didn't loosen his grip on his son, knowing that now was not the right time to explain to him about Rebecca's death. "We can talk about that later, Park. Right now I just want to make sure you're really here." He squeezed him tighter and wondered who he was trying to reassure when he said, "It's all going to be okay now."

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Parker had calmed quickly once they were back in Brennan's office, especially after Angela produced a small pint of ice cream from the freezer. His father hovered at his elbow, glad to see that he did not appear the least bit traumatized at his ordeal, but still seemingly afraid that if he let him out of arms reach he would disappear again. He was also very interested in the details of Parker's "adventure" over the last few days, and once he saw that his son was genuinely at ease he wasted no time in gently probing for answers.

"Hey, Parker," he began, "let's talk for a minute. Did you see Bones today?"

He was happily spooning ice cream into his mouth. "Yeah. We talked a lot."

Booth exhaled a breath he didn't know he was holding. _Thank God, at least she was still alive at some point today._

"What did you and Bones talk about?"

"Lots of stuff. She told me all about the bones in the human body, and how each one in important in its own way. And how people in places all over the world have different types of parties and celebrations, and that there were people on the planet thousands and millions of years ago..."

Booth smiled in spite of himself, trying to cover his mouth with his hand. _Leave it to you, Bones, to make a kidnapping an educational experience for my son._

"...and she told me about all these different countries and how she's met people that talk all sorts of different languages. And hey, Dad, did you know Bones has a magic wand?"

His head shot up at this, and he felt the familiar tightness return to his chest. "What?"

"Yeah! That was one of the things she wanted me to tell you. She said it was real important." He turned his attention back to his ice cream.

"Parker," he settled directly in front of his son and raised his chin with his finger to look him in the eye. "What exactly did she want you to tell me?"

Parker visibly took a moment, and then recited exactly what Bones had told him to say. "She wanted me to tell you that it looked like she would be able to use her magic wand after all." At his father's aghast expression, he was afraid he had said something wrong. Booth just stared at his son, the tendrils of understanding beginning to take root as he remembered their conversation.

_...If there was anything I could do to make this right, I hope you know that I would do it..._

_...I know you would. You and your magic wand would be working overtime..._

"Dad, what's an adu...less...ant? Is that some type of bug?"

Booth had to shake his head, and Parker repeated his question. "What? Do you mean 'adolescent', Park?"

Parker's eyes lit up. "Yeah! That's it. Bones said something about me not even being an adu...less...whatever that word is, and that it was the most logical choice for me to come home now." He stared at his father, still slightly scared at the blank and nauseous look on his face.

_Oh, Bones, _he thought. _What have you done? _His anger at her intensified as he thought about how rational and logical she would have been about the whole situation. Of course she would have seen that the rational choice between the two of them was for Parker to live. His Bones would never have even considered any other option. _Problem is, I didn't think it was her choice...how in the world had this happened?_

His heart heaved at the thought of her contemplating Booth's dilemma, inexplicably knowing that Booth would choose his son over her. She knew he would make that choice anyway, so why would she have forced the issue sooner? Why would she have made the decision to willingly sacrifice herself instead of just waiting for him to perform the ultimate betrayal himself? The answer was one that he knew was true in his heart well before the evidence was pieced together in his head.

She had made the decision for him. She had removed his free will choice from the equation, releasing him from whatever culpability he would feel or atonement he would seek after her death. By sacrificing herself, willingly, she had forfeited Booth's right to carry the blame for her eventual death and had taken it upon herself. Somehow, and indeed in some "magical" way, she had managed to twist the situation for the kidnapper's benefit, most likely dazzling him with logic and reason until her sacrifice somehow meant more to him than the guilt-trip that he was striving for.

_That's a lot of heart, Bones. A whole lot of heart._

"Was she right, Dad?" Parker asked. "Was it time for me to come home?"

Booth grabbed his son again, crushing him to his chest and willing the tears not to fall. "Yes, Park, it was definitely time for you to come home to me." He hugged him tightly, for a moment simply savoring the feel of his son's presence.

His cell phone obviously had other ideas. It began to buzz and Booth looked at his watch.

Ten o'clock.


	12. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

"Booth."

"Agent Booth," a human voice stated, apparently feeling that the computerized filter was no longer necessary. "How's your son?"

Booth remained silent, his jaw clenched, and rose to exit Brennan's office. He could not guarantee that he wouldn't completely lose his cool and that was something he knew he didn't want Parker to witness.

"Agent Booth, are you there?"

He paused, wondering for the slightest moment if he should just hang up. "Yeah, I'm here."

"I trust my driver was able to safely escort your son back to the Jeffersonian?"

"Yes."

"And I would also assume, naturally, that you have some questions for me about what has transpired here?" The tone of his voice was arrogant, overconfident, and self-aggrandizing as he spoke, and Booth knew that he was expecting him to beg for further information the way a stray dog begs for scraps.

The question, and the tone in which it was asked, instantly kick started Booth's investigate powers of perception. Bones, with the help of her intellectual powers of persuasion, had somehow convinced this man that more pain and turmoil could be accomplished through her sacrifice than through the original plan to destroy Booth via his own decision. Meaning, he quickly reasoned, that the doc would now fully expect him to beg for his partner's life in order to alleviate the sense of guilt he was feeling.

Booth's natural human tendencies and emotions screamed at him to break down, cry, and indeed beg the man to spare her. That, however, was exactly what the doctor was counting on and hoping for, and once her captor achieved this emotional victory Brennan would be dead. Booth may or may not ever find her body, but there was no doubt in his mind that he would indeed kill her when he had achieved his demented goal.

The only chance he had at this point was to completely throw him off guard and buy her some additional time.

"No," he stated, as nonchalant as he could possibly muster. "I don't have any questions." A short silence ensued, and Booth hoped his hail-mary plan would prove effective.

"You do understand," the voice began, regarding him as if he were explaining himself to a three-year-old, "that Dr. Brennan will be forfeited."

"Yes, I do," he hoped his pounding heart could not be heard through the phone. Pretending to be indifferent about the impending murder of his partner was something that he was inwardly struggling to accomplish. Outwardly, he knew he would have to be a master to pull this off.

"She really got the best of you, didn't she?" Booth questioned.

Again silence.

"I mean," he continued, "you had this perfect plan all concocted about how you were going to ruin my life and cause me undue mental torment and anguish...and you let her talk you out of it. Not that I'm at all surprised. She's the most persistently logical person I've ever met, and she..."

"Dr. Brennan did not talk me out of anything," the voice interrupted, in dark tone that sent chills through his skin.

"Oh no?" he questioned, almost gleefully. "I think she did. I think she completely sucked the wind out of your sails and turned your grand-master-revenge-plan upside down without you even knowing it." His chest puffed out slightly, so proud of her at this moment he wanted to burst. Only someone like her could play this mental and emotional chess match with a dangerous psychopath, all the while making him feel good about himself.

And he wasn't done with him yet. "She had you completely snowed, thinking that you would get what you wanted. All the while she was undermining you and leading you to the exact decision she wanted you to make. You didn't have any idea what she was doing, because she did it in a way that made you accept that it was your idea. It had to be, right? Because it was the most rational and logical thing to do. You had no idea she was completely, and utterly, playing you."

When the doctor remained silent Booth knew his tactic was working. The man was now desperately trying to sort through the logic Brennan had presented to him, as well as working his way backwards to determine exactly when his game plan had changed and why he had allowed it to do so.

"She lied to me," the doctor said in a dangerous voice.

His tone sent fear into Booth's heart, and he glanced up to look briefly at Angela, who had gathered around him with Hodgins, Zack, and Cam. He knew they would not understand why he was talking this way to the doctor, but he was really going to have to sell his indifference if he wanted to throw off the man's equilibrium. Hopefully then he would make a mistake and Booth would be there ready to capitalize on it.

"The moral of all of this," Booth continued, still struggling to feign content, "is that you failed. Completely and utterly. Dr. Brennan is a strong woman, and I am so proud of her for what she did and the scam job she pulled on you."

The doctor was angry, bordering on unhinged. Booth could hear it in his voice. "She said you really loved her. She said you would be devastated. She said you would never get over it if she sacrificed herself for you. She lied to me."

Booth's breath caught momentarily, and he hoped that the doctor hadn't noticed.

_I do love her. And I am devastated. But I'm sure as hell not going to give you the satisfaction..._

"Well, like I said, she was just playing you. And hey, I want to thank you for all of this." He allowed a hint of angry sarcasm to be masked in the volume of his voice when he continued. "After all, I've got sole custody of my son now because of you!"

Booth heard a gasp, and turned to see Angela near tears at his callous words. It was a horrible thing to say, he knew, and anyone within earshot that didn't know his true feelings on the subject would have regarded him as cold and heartless. He held up his hand to her, hoping she would wait until the call was over to either fly at him or completely burst into tears. He was still waiting to see how the doctor would respond. He could sense the confusion on the other end of the line but he was also hoping for some indication of how the man was going to react. The man's final words both scared and encouraged him.

"I guess this didn't end the way that any of us thought or hoped it would. With the exception of Dr. Brennan, of course," he sneered." A slight pause, then "Goodbye, Agent Booth."


	13. Chapter 14

**_Author's note: This last update was a little longer in the making than I originally planned. Sorry for the delay! Hope those of you who have hung in there with me this far are still enjoying the story. Reviews are always appreciated, and I'm going to try to get the next chapter up this week yet. Only a few more left, I promise! Thanks to everyone's reviews thus far - this is my first fanfic and I'm really enjoying the whole thing. Oh yeah, none of these characters belong to me, except for the doctor, because he's a fictional character that I made up all by my lonesome! :) Enjoy!_**

Chapter 14

He could feel their eyes boring holes through him.

All things considered, his Squint Squad wouldn't make a very effective field investigative team. They lacked the ability to evaluate scenarios that were not readily testable in the lab, and were often disconnected from the more emotional aspects that would make or break a case. But he had grudgingly come to admit that if he ever needed someone to watch his back in a difficult situation, work-related or otherwise, they would be the ones he would call.

Their loyalty to each other could, and often did, extended past their abilities. All of them had faced difficult trials through the last few years, and they had always rallied around each other, offering not only their scientific expertise but also their awkward, albeit appreciated, gestures of comfort. The fact that they were now rallying around him was evidence enough that they had accepted him as one of the family.

It was also why he felt he owed them an explanation for the conversation they had just overheard. Their eyes mirrored the same sense of hurt and confusion he felt in his own soul, his mind still unable to wrap around the myriad of lies and deceptive markers he had just laid down to mislead Brennan's captor. There was no sense of judgment or disapproval, simply a blind sense of faith and trust in him that would patiently wait for his explanation.

"Allright, squints," he began, his voice obviously more powerful than his exhausted mind could support. "We've got some work to do." Booth's gaze rested on Angela, only briefly, and he offered up what would be his only explanation for the lack of emotion they had all just witnessed.

"I said most of that to buy us some more time." He decided it would be better not to elaborate on which pieces of the conversation were, in fact, true and which ones felt like a jabbing blow to his heart to even ponder.

"Now, hopefully, we do have more time. This wasn't at all what he had planned, and now that he thinks I don't care he'll have to regroup before he..." he momentarily stumbled over the words, "...before he kills her. He'll have to reassess what he'll do with her, since she disrupted his whole plan to ruin me for life."

"But if he kills Dr. Brennan," Hodgins began, fully ready to turn the conversation into a discussion before uncomfortably realizing it was meant to be one-sided. "Umm...what I meant was...just...that...," he looked to Angela for guidance but she just shook her head, signaling he was on his own.

Hodgins had seen first hand just how far the strong man before him would go to save his partner the day he had saved her in the warehouse. Booth had almost collapsed from pain and exhaustion after leaving the hospital, yet he managed to push aside his own unbearable anguish knowing she was in trouble. Watching the normally stoic and unflappable agent wince and almost cry out in pain with every movement had almost been too much to witness. Booth had become the equivalent of a superhero to Hodgins, although he would never outwardly admit as much, and the only way he knew to deal with the situation at the time was a regrettably flippant comment to the man about eating too much pudding.

It had also been obvious to Hodgins on that day just how much the partners meant to each other. Angela had pumped him for information after he had returned to the lab, but he had never disclosed the details of what had happened after Brennan's kidnapper had been shot by Booth. There was something strangely private about the way Booth had placed her arms around his neck when he realized he was too weak to lift her, and in the way she had clung to him for dear life while he stroked her back to reassure her she was okay. And then in an instant the tide had turned. Brennan had realized Booth was in serious agony, and his brave facade had crumbled when the pain finally became unbearable. She had pulled him into her arms, her embrace the only comfort she could offer.

Hodgins knew, then, that being a part of that experience had bonded him to Booth, and that the agent had discretely regarded him as a worthy colleague for his role in Brennan's rescue. He had since tried to preserve Booth's high regard for him by avoiding the idle gossip that always surrounded the partners. For his part, Hodgins had simply hoped never to see that kind of intense pain and suffering on Booth's face again, much less be responsible for another ill-timed comment because of it.

He blew out a breath, mustering the courage to finish his thought and hoping that Booth would know he was only voicing the question to be supportive. "But if we can't find her, and he does kill her," his voice grew softer, "that _will_ ruin you for life. Won't it?"

His words had an obvious effect on Booth, who briefly met his gaze and allowed the sorrow and weariness to momentarily seep through his eyes. "That's what we're trying to avoid," he said gently, then righted himself and looked back at Zack. "Right now we need to look at our new evidence."

"New evidence?" Zack questioned, eager to move the conversation back to a subject with which he was more familiar.

"Yeah, we have over sixty pounds of new evidence," he continued, then let his gaze travel over to Brennan's office, where a still sleepy, bed-headed Parker was now emerging.

"Of course!" Hodgins realized, then quickly became more excited. "We can do a particulate trace from his shoes and clothes, and can do a fluids examination to test for trace mineral evidence..."

"Okay, so let's stop talking about it and do it," Booth exclaimed, waving Parker over with his hand.

He stooped down to rest on his knees and gave his son a big hug. "Hey buddy."

"Hey Dad."

"Parker, we're going to need to look at your clothes and shoes to see if we can see anything that will help us find Bones. Is that okay?"

His golden brown curls shook emphatically and his eyes widened. "Yeah. Do you think I can really help?"

Booth's face broke into a wide, genuine smile, something he hadn't been able to do in days. "I hope so buddy."

"Cool. Can I look at stuff through the microscope, too?"

This brought an all-out laugh from the agent. "I think that would be okay." He turned to look at Hodgins. "You remember Dr. Hodgins, don't you Park?"

"Yeah. You're the Bug Doctor, right?"

Hodgins smiled, trying hard to feign a serious stare. "Actually, my official title is the 'Bug and Slime Guy'. You don't have any slime, do you?"

Parker shook his head in the negative.

"Any bugs?"

Another head shake.

"Well, then I guess we'll just have to find something else that's cool to look at under the microscope."

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Brennan didn't know how long the doctor had been gone. The face of her watch had been cracked and ceased to move after she was attacked in her hallway, and she was still disoriented enough that she could not mentally keep track of day and night. Her head still pounded mercilessly, but the doctor had done a very professional job on her stitches and she could tell her concussion had improved, even if it was only slightly. Now, instead of large brightly colored dots that blinded her eyesight she was just seeing small pinpricks of white dots that were a mere nuisance. Those were manageable.

A heavy sigh escaped her lips. Despite the obvious absence of time measurement, she knew that by now Booth would know what had happened. He would know what she had done. Parker would be safe with his father, and the doctor would most likely be on his way back to kill her. Her only hope was that perhaps somehow Booth and the squints could perform a miracle and find her. Or at least someday find her body.

She shuddered at the thought of her corpse laying on top of the examination table at the Jeffersonian. Not because she feared death, or because she was squeamish at the thought of her own decaying flesh and bone. She had reconciled herself years ago to the inevitability of death, and the fact that she would someday resemble every set of bones she had ever examined. _No, _she thought, _that's not the problem. The problem is thinking about the expression on Booth's face when he realizes it's my body on the examining table._

Brennan had known it was a psychological gamble, trying to make the doctor believe that he would have more impact letting her sacrifice herself rather than letting Booth decide to save Parker. She had also known that either way, Booth would blame himself and feel guilty if he wasn't able to find her before the doctor killed her. At least this way, hopefully, he was able to make the doctor believe that he didn't care, that he was indifferent to the possibility of her death. A small mental victory over this crazy psychopath was her only goal, at this point. She had scoured every inch of the small room he had locked her in, and had discovered that there was absolutely nothing she could use to her advantage, and nothing she could send back with Parker as a clue to her whereabouts.

She did not regret for an instant deceiving the doctor in order to save Parker. She had known that in the end Parker would be safely returned to his father either way, for it was the only logical decision that could be made. But by making it her decision, instead of Booth's, she hoped that perhaps she had spared him the horrible feelings of guilt that the doctor was striving for. In that small way, even if she were to die at the hands of this madman, she hoped she had won.

_I'm sorry, Booth. I know I did the right thing...please forgive me._

She wasn't sure where the plea for forgiveness came from. Maybe it was because she knew Booth would be livid when he realized what she had done. Maybe it was because she couldn't bear the thought of Booth thinking poorly of her in any way. Or maybe it was because her faith truly did reside in only two things, science and Booth, and that praying to him was the only way she could think of to prepare herself for what might happen.

When the doctor returned, she would most definitely fight. She would never be resolved to be an easy kill for anyone. Realistically, she knew she was functioning well below optimum with three broken ribs and a severe concussion, and that statistically speaking any strong male would easily overpower her rather quickly.

Brennan closed her eyes, thinking briefly of the kiss she and Booth had shared under the mistletoe at Christmas. She had caught him off guard, had forced the issue on him really, as she hadn't given him a gentlemanly way out. But based on the way in which he had kissed her back, she never would have thought it necessary. His lips had been warm and soft, and more importantly, just as eager as hers.

_Booth, _she thought, again praying to her FBI deity. _I want to try that again. Please find me. You're the only one that can help me now. Save me. Save me. Save me. Save me..._

The door to the room opened with a loud bang as it crashed into the wall behind it. Her eyes fluttered open to see the doctor, his previously neutral countenance replaced by a darkly wicked gaze, prominently fixated on her.

"You," he hissed, malicious intent oozing from every pore of his being as he slowly circled around the room, pointing at her chest. "You lied to me!"

She kept her gaze impassive and did not respond, the emotions she had just been relishing now locked away firmly behind closed doors. She eased off the small bed and stood, wobbly, waiting for him to begin a physical attack. Her lack of response seemed to infuriate him further.

"Now, NOW you're quiet? You wouldn't shut up earlier!" He took two steps toward her and then resumed his pacing back and forth. "You really are something. Agent Booth was right about you."

At this her eyes perked slightly, eager for any tidbit of her partner. Too late she realized that the gesture should have been unnoticeable, and it was not lost on him. "Ah, so there is someone alive in there," he drew closer until he was face to face with her. "I was beginning to wonder if your stimulating conversation from earlier was completely faked, or if you actually told the truth about anything." He ran his hands up her arms, then grabbed her roughly when she tried to pull away.

"I don't think you want to do that," he hissed cruelly in her ear, his breath hot and sticky on her neck. His fingers dug into her arms until they broke the skin, causing her to cry out. He pushed her roughly back against the wall, pinning her with his muscled body. Her chest heaved, bruises and broken ribs protesting against the weight while her arms were helplessly restrained. The lack of oxygen and the sudden rush of adrenaline coursing through her body was causing her head to throb uncontrollably, and she suddenly became nauseous.

Her body began dry heaving, nothing but the tiny bit of water she had drank coming back up. The doctor abruptly released his grip, stepping back to let her unceremoniously crumple to the floor in a heap. The room was spinning, of that she was certain, and her equilibrium was so damaged that she suddenly couldn't tell which way was up or down. She splayed her hands out on the floor to offer some steadying point of reference from which to return from, but fell over on her side when her body could no longer stay upright on her knees.

Her lungs struggled for a breath, and she could feel herself blacking out. The last thing she saw was the doctor removing his knife from the holster at his waist. Her mind allowed only one more thought before succumbing again to the darkness: _Booth...hurry._

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	14. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

"Booth," Hodgins yelled across the lab. "Come take a look at this!" He turned back to his computer and clicked a few different menu options, bringing up two different slides side by side and a map of the DC area.

Booth was at his elbow in moments. "Give me good news, buddy."

"I don't know about good news, but this is definitely something you need to take a look at," he said, as he turned back to the computer images.

He pointed to the first slide on the screen, which to Booth looked like just a bunch of wavy, colorful snowflakes. Hodgins' finger outlined the edges of several of the snowflake-looking things. "Monosodium methyl arsenate. It's an arsenic-based herbicide, usually used for agricultural purposes or in places like golf courses to control crabgrass."

"Arsenic?" Booth asked, becoming somewhat panicked as he spoke. "Parker had arsenic on him? Could he have arsenic poisoning?"

Hodgins smiled and shook his head. "No, this is a less toxic and organic variation of your typical arsenic product. Besides, it was just a trace particulate that I almost missed from the bottom of his shoe."

Booth relaxed noticeably, and he turned back to his computer. "I had Angela do a quick modeling program using a 150 mile radius from DC of all the areas that are known to have have utilized monosodium methyl arsenate in the past few years." He hit a key, and the map lit up with several areas filled in with green.

"Then, I crossed referenced it with this," he pointed to the second slide on his computer and smiled, his chest puffing out slightly. "This is hexafluorosilicic acid."

"And that would be squint-speak for...?" Booth requested, slightly testy. He knew it was necessary for the squints to track him through their whole process, but sometimes he wished they would just cut to the chase.

Hodgins' body turned slightly towards him as he gave his unscientific explanation. "That's the chemical that they add to potable water when they want fluoridate it." He turned back to his computer and pointed to a bar graph.

"Normal fluoridation levels approved by the EPA give a maximum contaminant level of 4 milligrams per liter, and the recommended concentration ranges from 0.7 to 1.2 milligrams per liter. Each community that fluoridates its water has a specifically set concentration, based on the other elements in the water and external factors like climate." He hit another key on the computer, and the areas on the map filled with green were joined by several areas filled in blue.

"These are all of the areas that match the concentration level we found, crossed tabulated with the areas also using monosodium methyl arsenate." One more click, and everywhere on the map where the blue and green had overlapped now became red, and the other areas disappeared.

"How in the world did you figure out the level of fluoride in the water?" Booth queried.

Hodgins' gaze moved towards a beaker still resting on the lab table. The beaker still held a small amount of yellowish liquid, and he pointed to it as he spoke. "Cam took a urine sample from Parker. He said he had been really thirsty and had drank lots of water while he was...well, while he was in captivity."

"Geez, Hodgins, he's not an animal at the zoo," Booth admonished, though he was impressed with the squint squad's work yet again. He had never even fathomed that they would need to take samples from the inside of Parker, or for that matter that they could even learn anything by doing so.

"So what exactly does this tell us?" Booth asked breathlessly, trying not to let Hodgins' overt excitement spread to him prematurely.

"This is telling us, my fearless compadre, that Dr. Brennan and Parker were most likely held together somewhere in one of these red areas," he pointed at the screen again.

Booth's heart skipped a beat. They had a lead. They had evidence. And for the first time in several days, he had hope.

His voice quivered slightly when he spoke again. "Can you print this off with some geographical landmarks so I know what we're looking at?"

"Absolutely," Hodgins spun back around to his computer terminal and began clicking away with the mouse. In moments, the printer sprang to life and began churning out documents.

Booth grabbed them off the printer and clapped Hodgins on the back. "Good work, Hodgins." He arranged the four pages across one of the examination tables, and studied the map for only a few moments before Hodgins heard him speak under his breath.

"Oh my God."

"What is it?" he questioned, joining Booth next to the table. The agent's face had suddenly become flushed, and his eyes were a frenzy of emotions, combining excitement and abject horror into one muted expression.

Booth stretched one long finger out to point to an area within one of the red spots on the map. Hodgins leaned over closer, trying to discern what he had pointed out, but only managed to make out the word "Forest" before he heard Booth speak in tone that chilled him to the bone.

"I know where she is."


	15. Chapter 16

**_Author's Note: This update took WAY too long - just haven't had the writing time I had earlier! I've only got a chapter or two left though, so we'll try to get this wrapped up. Please take a moment to review if you haven't already, so I can tell if I'm still on the right track. Thanks to all of you that review as you read the new chapter - it's great to know you haven't forgotten about this story already!_**

Chapter 16

It had started to rain. Sometime between his return to the lab, which now seemed like days ago, and the final call from the doctor only a few hours ago, a slight drizzle had now become a freezing rain. Booth had no doubt that as his vehicle climbed in elevation towards the mountains that the precipitation would indeed turn into snow.

The lights of the city major had long since faded behind him, and the steady beat of the wipers cleared a visual path displaying only the faint lights along the Virginia county highway. The lights of oncoming cars were at further and further intervals, and after he passed through a small town at the base of the mountain they were virtually nonexistent.

His call to Cullen thirty minutes earlier had been brief. He had explained to his boss that he knew where the doctor was taking his partner, and that he was going to retrieve her. Booth didn't verbalize the internal thought that had taken up permanent residence in his mind, that he would bring her home whether or not she was still alive, or that he planned to put a bullet in her captor's head as soon as he saw him.

"I'll send a team out for back up," Cullen had said. "They should be there within the hour."

"No, sir," Booth had argued. "If by some miracle she is still alive she won't be if a squad of agents corner him out in the forest somewhere. At this point, he's got absolutely nothing to lose." _Kind of like me, _he added silently.

Cullen had paused, thoughtfully. "Why did you call me, Agent Booth?"

"Sir?"

"Why did you call me if you were going to refuse back up. Or for that matter, if you weren't going to want any other agents even in the area?"

Booth had hesitated, wondering himself why he had called. "I guess I just wanted to keep you in the loop, sir." And then as an afterthought, "and so that if things do go badly you'll know what happened. None of your agents would be able to beat me there at this point, and I'm sure not going to wait for them."

Booth had considered the ramifications of notifying his boss about his intentions to pursue the doctor, but had reasoned that he had stopped caring about the effects on his professional career several days ago. Nevertheless, that sense of respect for authority that had been instilled in him long before army boot camp was still present and driving his actions.

He had endured another pause from Cullen. "Allright, Agent Booth. As far as I'm concerned, during the next half an hour I will make several calls to the Bureau and to the Jeffersonian. At the conclusion of those phone calls, I will assemble a squad of agents to accompany me and we will head to the mountains. I estimate it will be an hour and a half before we reach the location your Squints will eventually describe to me."

Booth had thanked his boss, then snapped his phone shut and turned his full attention to the road. The rain had not yet turned to snow as he feared, but had instead evolved into a cold sleet that slid across his windshield as soon as it hit. It wasn't long until he reached the point in the highway where it had been closed for the season. A large sign explained the seasonal nature of the highway, and that it was now closed by the National Forest Service because of the snowfall already accumulated at much higher elevations.

He paused only for a minute, then stepped on the gas and swerved around the metal barrier to continue along the highway. The road turned into a switchback up the side of the mountain, with occasional drive-off areas noted by National Forest Service signs as official trailheads for hiking. The particular trailhead he was looking for was only another ten miles up the road.

The minutes clicked by, and with every turn of the wheel Booth's knuckles turned whiter and gripped the wheel tighter. He had been so sure of himself back in the warmth and safety of the Jeffersonian. But now, as he drew nearer to the last vestige of hope for his partner, he began to doubt himself, and began to doubt the 'gut' that he had always reassured Bones was foolproof. _What if I'm wrong? What if he didn't bring her to the same place as before? What if he's still back in DC and this is just a wild goose..._

His internal monologue and his breath both stopped as he made the final turn and another car came into view. The dark blue SUV was parked in the turnout for the trailhead that had become his destination. It looked as though it had been there for some time, and was almost completely frozen over with sleet. The gravel in the turnout crunched under his own tires as he parked, and he jumped out in one smooth motion with his flashlight and his gun drawn simultaneously.

There was no doubt in Booth's mind that this was the doctor's vehicle, and that his gut had indeed served him well. He brushed some of the sleet away from the windows and peered inside to see the keys still in the ignition. He shone his flashlight into the back cargo area, and was almost hesitant to look. Deciding against it, he instead moved to the rear and swung the hatchback door open.

He shone his flashlight beam through the dark vehicle and in an instant his worst fear presented itself. _Blood._ There was blood everywhere. And she had been here. Of that there was now no doubt. For on the right side next to the wheel well, almost buried against the edge of the carpet, was her necklace. The necklace she had been wearing the day she was kidnapped.

He wrapped his fingers around the delicate chain, gently pulling it loose from the carpet it had become embedded in. He stared at the small medallion now dangling from his fingers, dried blood caked throughout the chain. Booth had searched through much of the DC area for the perfect birthday gift for her earlier in the year, and knew when he first set his eyes on it that it was indeed perfect for her. Her face had scrunched up in confusion when she opened it; for a brilliant anthropologist she could be fairly dense sometimes.

Booth had uncomfortably been forced to explain that No, he didn't think she had a particular vested interest in Chinese culture, but Yes, the yin-yang symbol was perfect for her. Because she was his opposite, yet com-PLE-mentary, at the same time. But also half, and whole, at the same time too.

Her luminous blue eyes had only stared at him in wonder until he had stammered and fumbled through his ineloquent and wholly inadequate explanation of the meaning behind his gift. She had then surprised him by suddenly wrapping her arms around him in a passionate hug. Her lips had moved to his ear to softly whisper "Thank you, Booth", which had sent a warm thrill down his neck, and he had struggled not to keep her tightly pulled into his chest when she moved away.

She had worn the necklace almost every day since.

Booth pushed the warm thoughts of his partner aside and shoved the necklace into his coat pocket. He would make sure he returned it to her, but he had to find her first. And he still had another four mile hike ahead of him.

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Very rarely since he had joined the FBI had Booth been thankful he had received such thorough training as an Army Sniper. On the exceptional occasion he had to sneak up on a suspect before an arrest, he would momentarily thank the US Government for the techniques and procedures they had subconsciously instilled in every member of their special units. His conscious mind, however, had never allowed his experience as a sniper to interfere with his training or purpose as an agent, and it had never maintained a significant presence in his conscious mind. Until now.

On this occasion, tracking the doctor through the forest to recover his partner, FBI Special Agent Seeley Booth had completely reverted to full commando sniper mode. The physical and mental exhaustion that had gradually crept into his mind and body over the last several days was instantly gone, replaced now by only the burning drive to find the object of his quest. Physically, he had always maintained his body in excellent shape to keep up with the rigors of his occupation. Mentally, the toughness ingrained in him by his drill sergeant, various superiors, and ultimately the colonel he served under after Ranger training, allowed him to quickly put every one of his senses on full alert and become increasingly aware of his surroundings.

The wet and soggy ground was making his trek much more arduous, but was also thankfully making his progress much more silent as well. Despite the miserable conditions, Booth felt his body move quickly and easily up the trail with a stealthy, but speedy, gait. Periodically he would stop to observe the trail, only momentarily illuminating it with his flashlight held low to the ground. Thus far, he had only found evidence of one individual traveling the same way ahead of him. He was also able to guess that the individual either weighed 300 pounds or was carrying something, or someone, that caused the footprints to sink deep into the soft earth.

Booth wiped the cold rain from his forehead, ringing it out of his hair as he pressed on. He had definitely not dressed for an evening in the freezing rain and was now drenched to the skin. His finger remained gently poised on the trigger of his weapon, but it was becoming increasingly numb as the chilly wind blew the rain against the bare skin of his hands. His breath was calm and even, despite his quick pace, and the warm steam of air exhaled from his lungs generated a large cloud of vapor. He was noiseless as he slowed his pace somewhat, becoming increasingly aware of a dull light growing increasingly brighter as he moved closer.

The soft glow through the drizzle quickly came into focus as Booth approached, as did a repetitive scraping sound that he just couldn't identify. Reflexively, his finger clenched slightly against the cold metal of his gun's trigger. Another few seconds and he stealthily drew closer, finally bringing the other man into view.

Booth peered through the relative safely of the trees and assessed the scene in an instant. The doctor had brought a lantern, which was now brightly illuminated and sitting on the ground next to him. In his right hand he held the top of the shovel handle, wearily leaning into it as if it were a vertical rest stop while he attempted to catch his breath from the physical exertion. Booth could see he had dug a small grave, presumably for his partner, and had just begun the process of filling it in. Chilled as he was, the sudden realization of the doctor's progress hit the agent like a freezing bucket of water.

If the doctor was already filling in the grave that meant that she was dead.

His partner was dead.

_His Bones_ was dead.

This maniac was out here in the middle of a freezing rainstorm to bury her body in the ground. Her beautiful, sexy body was going to be covered with mud and dirt and leaves and left for predators to scavange in the middle of a National Forest. In the split-second it took for Booth's mind to process what was happening before him, anger and vengeance ceased threatening to hide. Indeed, there was no need, for their presence was much to strong and was now clearly known.

The doctor began working again, moving only one shovelful of dirt from the mound into to the grave before Booth tore into the small clearing with his gun drawn. The doctor's face gave a frightened mix of confusion and fear, before briefly smiling at him in recognition. Booth took that chance to wordlessly deposit three well-placed bullets directly into the man's forehead. Only after the man's body had fallen to the ground did he squeeze four more off directly into his heart, enjoying an odd, and not altogether uncomfortable sense of satisfaction. No conversation, no rationale, just suddenly and immediately dead.

Slowly, hesitatingly, he turned and peered into the grave, unsure of what to expect.


	16. Chapter 17

Slowly, hesitatingly, he turned and peered into the grave, unsure of what to expect.

"Oh...God...no," he choked, taking in the scene. She was here. Well, her physical body was here. The breath he had been collectively holding since he discovered she was taken was released, but caught again in his throat in the instant he assessed her current state. She was soaked, no doubt left lying on the forest floor in the rain while her grave was being dug.

Blindly, he stumbled to her side. "Bones?" he whispered, halfway expecting her to open her eyes and berate him for taking so long. He reached out with both hands to softly brush back the wet, muddy hair that was plastered to her face. She was cold...too cold.

"Bones..." he started again, and felt his voice crack when he tried to continue.

_Her face..._

She had always had beautiful porcelain like skin, what some would call 'pale'. Now, with bruises covering one side and mud covering the other, her pallid features only accentuated the frightful blue of her lips. Her entire head looked swollen and raw, the once neat stitches now straining against the puffy flesh around them. Blood had flown freely from both her head and her abdomen, evidenced by the crimson watermark on her blouse and the pink trail the rain was making down her face into the hollow of her throat.

Booth's eyes threatened to spill over with tears. Clumsily, he tried to pull her out of her shallow grave, but only managed to fall down on the ground beside her. "Dammit," he finally managed, realizing he would have to dig out her legs in order to extricate her.

Dirt and mud began flying wildly as he dug around her, and he suddenly had a startling moment of déjà vu. The chill of the mud and the rocks gouging into his skin were far different than the sunburned sand he had frantically extricated her from once before, but the intensity was the same. He had been possessed with finding her then, and had been filled with the same belief that he now clung tightly to in his heart. That if he could only rescue her and extract her from the natural elements holding her prisoner she would be fine.

She was mostly free now and he tried again to move her, this time lifting her into a semi-sitting position and wrapping his arms around her torso. Her body moved easily this time, and he dragged her out of the muddy hole. He collapsed onto the ground, pulling her into him and wrapping his arms around her. Dreading the next few seconds more than anything he had ever dreaded before, he finally willed himself to place two fingers into the curve of her neck and check for a pulse.

Nothing. He shifted her slightly in his arms and tried again with a different angle. He waited for what seemed an eternity, feeling no spark of life from beneath her cold, clammy skin, until he felt a slight bump under his fingers. He pressed harder, wondering if his imagination had finally begun creating reality from his subconscious. He felt the weak bump again, slow, but present nonetheless.

"Oh, God...thank you God..." he cried, crushing her to him and burying his face into her soggy hair. He allowed himself only a moment to weep, openly, his tears mixing into the sleet that was now slicing into his face. Her body felt stiff and cold against him, and he knew that the faint heartbeat he had just felt would be gone soon if he didn't get her down to safety.

His hands felt worthless as he fumbled in his pocket for his cell phone. _No service. _The freezing temperatures had finally begun to turn the sleet into snow, and a growing sense of urgency renewed itself within him.

"Allright, Bones," he spoke, as he hefted himself off the ground. "We've got to get out of here." Gently, he hefted her over his shoulders like a fireman and grabbed the lantern as he began making his way out of the small clearing and back towards the trail. It had seemingly taken no time to climb up the mountain trail, but Booth knew he had at least an hour walk back down to the car while carrying her, and then another half hour drive just to the last town he had passed on the way. And he was increasingly becoming aware of just how exhausted he actually was.

"Come on, Bones, just stay with me here," he pleaded, more to keep his mind open and alert while he walked than to actually communicate with his partner. He was trying to walk as quickly as he could without planting them both back in the mud, but his weariness was beginning to pressure him.

"If I go to all this trouble to save you and you give up on me I'm gonna kick your ass," he mumbled. Normally he would have no problem packing his partner for miles, if necessary, however his body had been functioning on nothing but coffee and adrenaline for days. It was now screaming for not only better fuel, but also better insulation to protect from the frigid temperatures that seemed to drop with every step he took

Another prayer came unbidden to Booth's mind as he sidestepped a large tree root over the path of the trail. _"God, please help me! Don't let me find her just to lose her again. Help me get us out of this..."_


	17. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Booth was freezing. At least, he knew he probably was. He had stopped feeling anything in his hands or feet fifteen minutes prior. What little heat he was able to generate through sheer physical exertion had been quickly absorbed by the frigid body of his dying partner, still slung over his shoulders.

_Dying. She was dying._

He had no doubt that she was dying. The pallor of her face, the frosty clamminess of her skin, the blue lips, the amount of blood that had trickled down his shoulder from the apparent stab wound in her abdomen, and most importantly the weak heartbeat were all strong indicators that she would most likely not even survive their trek back down the mountain trail.

He pushed himself harder, knowing that his speed was now the only thing standing between her and imminent death. If he could get her to safety quickly enough she could be saved. If he paused, even for a moment, and gave into the pain and agony of his icy muscles screaming from overexertion and exhaustion, he would lose her.

He set his jaw determinedly. "That's not going to happen," he assured himself. He grunted and readjusted her over his shoulders. Once again he checked the bright screen on his cell phone, and again he was frustrated with the lack of service.

"Gonna have to talk to someone about my service plan," he joked. He had tried to keep up a steady stream of one-sided dialogue, mostly to keep his mind alert and aware but also to try to encourage her to stay with him. Booth had reasoned that in her unconscious state she most likely had no idea of what was happening to her. But if there was even the remotest chance that he could keep her mind and spirit here with him simply by talking to her he would recite the entire Constitution if necessary.

"Bones," he started as he jumped over another large tree limb, "I know you wanted to start spending more time outdoors, but all this really wasn't necessary." Another grunt as he almost tripped in a small depression on the trail, which was quickly becoming covered in a thin layer of snow.

"All you had to do was ask. We could have gone camping." Images of a nice warm fire and roasted marshmallows were quickly purged out of his mind by his chattering teeth.

"Of course, if I'm going to be camped out somewhere, laying on a nice warm Caribbean beach with a cold Corona in my hand sounds pretty good right about now," he quipped. "At least then I'd get to see you in a bikini." Visions of Bones in a tropical bikini laid out on a white sandy beach spread a warm feeling through his core.

"Well, then, that's it. After we've recovered from our little nature expedition here, I'm going to take you on a vacation," he promised. "Somewhere with a beautiful white sandy beach..."

He stumbled. "...and a warm tropical breeze..."

The lantern, which had been flickering and loosing intensity for the last ten minutes, finally extinguished as the last of the kerosene ran out. They were instantly blanketed in darkness.

"...and the nice warm sun beating down on you," he finished lamely, drawing to a halt as he tossed the lantern aside. He let his eyes adjust to the darkness as he peered down the trail. A dull pink glow was reflected from the thin layer of snow blanketing the ground. It would be enough to eventually fumble his way back to the car, but would definitely not be bright enough to keep up the previously frenetic pace he had set.

"Dammit," he cursed loudly. He blew out a deep breath and slowly began picking his way down the trail. "Okay, I guess this is where we get off the express train and board the slow boat."

His teeth had stopped chattering. Booth knew it was not a good sign and that he was moving towards hypothermia, but it was what he expected after being soaking wet and exposed to the frigid elements for almost two hours. The slower pace taxed his body more severely, as he couldn't get his blood flowing rapidly enough to keep his muscles warm and generate enough body heat to stave off the cold. His mind had also begun playing tricks on him, and at one point he actually thought he heard Bones reply to one of his smart jokes about being a squirrel and holing up in a tree.

He really thought he was hallucinating when he began to draw closer to a light in the near distance. He took only a few more steps and realized that he was indeed drawing closer to a light. He stopped all together when he realized that it was not just one light, but two...then...three. Or four? His befuddled mind could not comprehend what was happening, even as agents in FBI coats swarmed around him trying to extricate his partner from his frozen fingers. It wasn't until Cullen's concerned face appeared in one of the flashlight beams that Booth was able to slightly relax.

"Agent Booth," Cullen stated, gently trying to remove the younger man's iron clad grasp on his partner, while concurrently assessing the agent's shivering body and slightly blue lips. Dr. Brennan looked as if she were dead, and if by some miracle she wasn't, she was too damn close. He knew Booth had to let her go so the medical team could get to work on both of them...and fast.

Booth finally nodded, reluctantly allowing Cullen to pull Brennan away from him. Instantly agents were there covering both of them with warm dry blankets, and it was only a moment later that he realized they had actually made it all the way back to the trailhead. Cullen turned away from him and hurriedly carried Brennan to the awaiting FBI medical van.

Booth staggered into the clearing, trying desperately to follow his partner and waving off assistance from other agents. He noted through the heavily falling snow that the two SUV's in the pullout were now joined by a multitude of FBI vehicles, and he clumsily tried to weave around them in an attempt to catch up with Cullen. He finally stopped, completely exhausted, and watched only long enough to see Brennan being loaded into an FBI medical van before collapsing heavily against a dark sedan and falling to the ground.


	18. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

The warm sun felt glorious on her battered body. She simply lay there, relaxing, allowing the repeated sounds of the ocean to guide her into a light slumber while the balmy ocean breeze softly caressed her skin. Her head was back, her eyes were closed, and for the moment she was completely oblivious to her surroundings; content to take comfort in the healing rays from above.

A slight sense of movement to her right caused her eyes to open. Although shielded somewhat by her sunglasses, her eyes still squinted sharply at the sudden brightness. Even through narrowed eyelids it took her only a nanosecond to discern the wet and muscular form of her partner.

"Bones!" he stated jovially, shaking salty ocean droplets from his hair. He busied himself with preparing his chair before he sat, enjoying her attention on him and her obvious rare appraisal of his physique. "Have a good nap?"

"Mmm hmm," she murmured, closing her eyes again and turning her head back to its original position. Staring at her partner's naked torso any longer could only get her into further trouble.

"Good," he stated, matter-of-factly. She heard him sit down in his chair, but could still feel his eyes on her as he spoke. "Are you ready to come back now?"

"Come back where, Booth?" she murmured, only half-listening to his idle chatter and completely content to bask in the radiant warmth of the sun forever.

"Come back to me."

At this she turned her head to look at him, puzzled. "What do you mean? I'm right here."

"That's the problem," he agreed, earnest brown eyes meeting with hers. "You're right here."

She sighed. "Booth, how many of those Corollas have you had?"

His face broke into a wide smile and he chuckled softly. "It's Coronas, Bones, Coronas. A Corolla is a car."

She rested her head against the back of the chair again and closed her eyes. "Whatever they're called, I think they're beginning to affect your cognitive skills."

"Temperance," he said, immediately commanding her attention by the use of her first name. "Look at me."

She turned her head again, finally observing his solemn countenance. His expression suddenly worried her, and somewhere in the back of her head a dull ache began to make its way to the surface. She sat up in her chair and turned to face him.

"What is it, Booth?"

"Listen to me, please. I'm glad, really glad, that you've had this chance to relax and give your mind a break from what's really happening to your body..." She started to open her mouth to ask a question, but he hushed her by holding up his hand as he continued.

"I think your mind needed a safe place to go for awhile; somewhere warm where it felt secure and protected." A wry smile crossed his lips. "I'm glad that place was here with me. But now that your mind has had time to check out for awhile you have to come back to reality. You have to come back to me."

Her face began to lose its color and her hand reached up to massage her temples. "What do you mean? I don't need to come back...to...reality. I'm fine right...where I'm at..." _Where had this headache come from? It just came out of nowhere..._

"Bones, I promise you that sometime soon we'll get a real chance to sit on a nice warm beach and drink as many small cars as you want," he chuckled at his own joke. "But right now you know you have to come back." He gazed at her, sympathetically, as she lay back down on the chair and dug her heels into her eyes.

"Why does my head hurt so bad?" she wimpered.

"Because you already know that it's time to come back. You're already beginning to feel the pain and trauma that your body is trying to recover from."

She groaned and looked down to see a dark red blood stain slowly appearing on her lower abdomen. Bruises mottled her ribs, and from the way it looked several were broken. Her head was pounding, and finally she couldn't take it anymore and closed her eyes.

"Booth...it hurts."

"I know, Bones. And it will hurt, probably for awhile. But it will eventually get better. You have to come back." He eased over to her side. "Are you ready?"

She chanced a glimpse at him, her eyes filled with pain, and gave a barely perceptible nod. He raised his hand, partially blocking her view of both him and the sun, and placed it gently across her forehead. Its coolness was a stark contrast to the heat of her skin, and instantly the warmth and color from the beach disappeared.


	19. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

It was dark. Dark and cold. She knew her body was shivering, yet she was still completely unaware of its surroundings. The detached blackness surrounding her was disorienting, and though she felt nothing she could somehow feel motion; an undulating series of highs and lows, as if she were on the crest of a wave with no discernible rhythm.

At first the motion soothed her. The gentle tendrils of the black nothingness were comforting in their simplicity. They lifted her and caressed her, soothing her senses with the absence of feeling. All at once she felt herself breathe, the rise and fall of her chest disrupting the quiet symphony that had been so relaxing a moment before.

Instantly the waves became greater in their intensity. The peaceful rise and fall throughout her body gradually became a rocking, unfamiliar turbulence instilling nausea with every pitch and roll. The blackness had turned into a subtle gray, and every lurch brought a new series of pain to recognition. Her senses assaulted her all at once; the burning of her frozen skin, the pulsing throbbing of her wounded head, the jagged tear through flesh and muscle deep into her abdomen.

She struggled against the waves, and against the sensations that were causing her so much pain. She wanted to go back to the senseless blackness, where the pain had seemed to be far away, but someone was gently holding her here. Someone was steering her through the tormented waves and undulating motions, using the slight pressure of their guiding hand as a strong conduit. This connection to a solid and tangible anchor gave her a resilient lifeline, and as she followed the link to its source her mind slowly pushed through the dark and agonizing emptiness.

Slowly and painfully she opened her eyes. The shapes before her were blurry, and although the room was dimly lit her eyes snapped shut again, the relative brightness painful to her sensitive eyes. The throbbing in her head and the seemingly blinding light around her made her want to sink deeper back into the soothing nothingness that she had just emerged from, but her lifeline wouldn't let her retreat.

Brennan's entire body felt as if it were cold and on fire at the same time, and her hypersensitive awareness of every aspect of her body was almost overwhelming. A soothing warmth had wrapped itself around her right hand, a harsh difference from the remainder of her battered body. She forced her eyelids open again through sheer willpower, desperate to find the source of the comforting element connected through her hand.

After a few long moments straining to focus, she realized her hand was tenderly and lovingly caressed within the palm of her corporeal lifeline. His hand was red and raw and was motionless around hers, and his knuckles were scabbed from where they had been bloodied. Further assessment from her dilated eyes revealed the remainder of his weary body, sitting in a chair directly beside her. His head was resting on his arm, stretched out on the bed next to her hip, and his eyes were closed in an exhausted sleep.

Brennan was overwhelmed with emotion for her partner. Although she was hurting, and most likely returning on the slow path from near-death, she was here and she was alive simply because of him. Of that she had no doubt. Only Booth would manage to go the edge of Hell for her and bring her back still in one piece. Her fingers must have flexed slightly as she grew more aware of her surroundings, because his eyes fluttered open and his head shot up in an instant, eyes filled with disoriented concern.

Booth wasn't expecting to see his partner staring back at him, and his mouth gaped open slightly as he was not yet completely awake. Despite the abruptness, he relished the beautiful blue eyes staring back at him more than anything he had ever seen. Compared to the deep-set blue-tinged orbs that had accentuated her pale face when he pulled her out of the forest, her drowsy and muddled features were a welcome and beautiful sight.

"Hey there," he said softly, his thumb gently rubbing over her knuckle.

"Hey," she replied in a hoarse whisper, painfully trying to give him a small smile. He lowered his face to her hand, and she could feel the hot tears spilling from his eyes onto her sensitive skin.

"I'm sorry, Temperance," he choked. "I'm so sorry you had to go through all of this because of me."

"Booth," she whispered weakly, attempting to squeeze his hand without much success. "You saved me. And I'll be fine."

He shook his head. "Bones, you don't know...you don't have any idea."

She closed her eyes, the effort of consciousness and conversation beginning to take its toll. Memories began to flash through her mind of the ordeal she had just endured, and a sudden realization snapped them open again.

"Parker!" she gasped frantically, wrenching her hand free from him and attempting to sit up in bed as she remembered everything that had transpired. Booth carefully held her shoulders, then her face, between his hands as he tried to calm her.

"Bones, it's okay! Parker is fine. He's with his grandparents right now. He is absolutely fine," he reassured her, gently smoothing her hair away from her face as he helped her lay back down.

Her chest heaved, the sudden surge of adrenaline shocking her system. "Booth," she began, overcome with pain from her sudden movement and unable to finish her sentence as she struggled for breath. He reached out again and grabbed her hand in his, stronger this time.

"You are an infuriating woman," he stated, only slightly accusatory. Her eyes showed her confusion as her breathing began to slightly regulate.

His voice lowered slightly in pitch as he spoke, a mode that told Brennan he was growing increasingly agitated. He proved her assessment by releasing her hand and pacing next to the bed.

"I cannot believe you. I cannot believe what you did, Bones," he stated, his true feelings masked only slightly with the hint of anger in his voice. "I can't believe you played psychological warfare with that crazy psychopath in order to save my son...and that you willingly sacrificed yourself in the process." He resumed his pacing.

"I mean, how could you do that? How could you do that to me?" he demanded, stopping next to her bed again and staring her down, his face a mask of some emotion she couldn't recognize. "You almost got yourself killed."

She closed her eyes, mirroring Booth's earlier action as her own hot tears began to flow. Of course he was right; she had acted irrationally and he had to risk his live to save her...again. She was his responsibility, and if anything happened to her he and his job would be held accountable for it. She would never regret her actions to save Parker's life, and she would do it again if it would save her partner the pain of making that terrible decision. But Booth was right to be angry, and at that moment she wished he would have just let her die where the doctor left her.

It surprised her when Booth was suddenly sitting on the bed next to her, crushing her to his chest in a tight and painful embrace. "God, Bones, don't ever, EVER, scare me like that again," he paused for only a moment, then added quietly, "I almost lost you."

His admission, combined with his mere closeness and the ferocity of his embrace, momentarily obscured the fact that he was compressing her broken ribs. He released her in only seconds, realizing that he was hurting her, and she sucked in a shallow breath as a racking pain shot up her side. When the pain had subsided and she had relaxed, his hand cupped the side of her face, wiping away the tears. His warm brown eyes gazed into hers, the anger he felt at himself momentarily subsided.

"Booth," she attempted weakly, but he gently cut her off.

"It's okay. You just try and rest now. I'm sorry I got so upset," he admitted, "but I have a really hard time thinking about not having you in my life. And I'm really just mad at myself for allowing all this to happen in the first place." He was thoughtful for a moment before he continued.

"And I guess the thought of you sacrificing yourself for my well-being, well..." he coughed uncomfortably. "It just goes against everything I believe in, trust, and...love." His eyes bored into hers as he spoke, and in turn her eyes displayed her understanding. Using every ounce of strength and willpower she had left, she slowly raised her right hand to intertwine with his. He brought her fingers to his lips and kissed her hand softly.

"You've got a lot of heart, Bones, a lot of heart."


	20. Epilogue

AUTHORS NOTE: For those of you who began reading this story this fall when I began writing it, thank you for all of your kind reviews and comments. And thanks for coming back now to read this! I had always intended to write an epilogue, but life got in the way a bit and I never got the chance to get it completed. So, after this last chapter, this novella of mine is finally finished. This is the first fanfiction I've written, and I hope you've enjoyed reading it. Please click that little review button and let me know your thoughts!

Epilogue

Booth quietly closed the door to Brennan's room behind him. She had drifted off into a restful sleep, thankfully, and the whole encounter with her had left him feeling completely drained. He strolled aimlessly through the corridors for several minutes searching for the nearest coffee machine, and then suddenly realized his urge for the hot liquid had dissipated into the simple need to be removed from her presence and collect his thoughts.

Unknowingly he ventured into a large atrium-like waiting room as he walked, where a panoramic picture window looked out over the lights of the city. The room was empty and at this time of the night was dimly lit, adding to the soothing effect of the twinkling lights before him. _Perfect for a little bit of introspection,_ he thought. His chest heaved a large sigh of defeat as he lowered himself into one of the overstuffed chairs and gazed out into the night.

His mind recalled the scene only minutes before in her room as he had returned her necklace. He had forgotten about it, lost in the multitude of more important concerns, until he discovered it earlier in the day still in his coat pocket. She had gently twirled the chain in her fingers and offered him another weak smile, rasping, "I thought I had lost this."

"Nope." He had given his head a slight shake. "I found it."

Her brows had furrowed at that, and her gaze had turned more serious as she desperately fought sleep. "Just like me," she had whispered simply, not wanting to break eye contact with him but physically unable to keep her eyes open any longer. He had stayed by her side for some time, simply watching her sleep, before allowing his desire for a good cup of strong hot coffee to drive him from the room.

Booth had been thankful for her soft responses to him after his earlier outburst. He hadn't meant to unload his emotional baggage on her like that, especially right after she regained consciousness, but he had underestimated the powerful emotions raging within him. Gazing into her beautiful blue eyes and feeling the living warmth of her hand after watching her lying motionless for several days was almost more than he could bear. Now that he was sure beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was alive and safe, his body had finally quit demanding adrenaline and his mind and heart had started demanding answers.

The anger he felt at himself had been derived from the deep roots of fear, ranging from simple helplessness to being the single cause of her impending death. Indeed, he doubted she would ever truly know how close he came to losing her, both in the forest and in the emergency vehicle where she had flat-lined twice and had to be resuscitated by medical personnel. Director Cullen had shared that information with Booth after he himself had woken up in the hospital three days earlier, and the mental pictures that ensued were sure to give him nightmares for years.

Booth had woken from his exhausted, dehydrated, and slightly hypothermic stupor with her name on his lips. Cullen had been there, keeping vigil over Booth the few hours he had been unconscious, and had known the young man would immediately demand to know the fate of his partner. After the initial scare on the way to the hospital, he had explained, she had stabilized somewhat but had not yet woken. Her stab wound had been critical and she had lost a lot of blood, but her severe hypothermia had possibly contributed to saving her life, serving as an additional coagulant of sorts. Her four broken ribs and severe concussion would heal in time, but the after effects from the head injury might plague her for years to come.

Booth dug the heels of his hands into his eyes painfully as he thought about Bones, forced to deal with the lasting effects of a serious head injury for the rest of her life. Cullen had commended him, stating that he and the squints had most certainly saved her life; that she would have easily died out in that forest if they had not located her and he had not carried her to safety. When considering that, he reasoned, side effects didn't sound like such a bad thing.

After being released from medical care himself, Booth had taken his post beside her bed. Cullen had motioned him into the hallway on day one, his face a mask of impassivity. He had informed him that the FBI had found the doctor's body in the forest, and despite the limited evidence the Bureau had managed to gather because of the snow it was clear he had been unarmed when Booth had violently mowed him down. Cullen never did ask if Booth had seen a weapon or not, and for his part he didn't argue or try to make excuses for what he had done.

Officially, Cullen had stated rather flatly that he had been ordered by his supervisors to permanently remove Special Agent Seeley Booth from all official capacities and duties as an agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. In addition, he would be under review from Internal Affairs in order to determine if any criminal prosecution was warranted. The violent nature of the crime, combined with his unofficial status at the time, made for a ripe inquiry that no one in the Bureau had the authority to overrule. He was effectively removed from duty as of that date, and would receive his last paycheck within two weeks.

Unofficially, Cullen stated that he was surprised he only put seven rounds into the doctor. Booth had smiled at his former bosses comment, but only slightly. Then the older man had placed his hand on his shoulder and asked the question that Booth had been churning through his soul for the last two days as he waited for his partner to awaken. He asked if Booth thought the doctor had indeed succeeded in some way in his quest to ruin his life. The younger man's puzzled look had forced clarification. Cullen had sighed softly, and explained that by killing the doctor and completely disregarding due process of law Booth had been forced to perform an action contrary to his nature and character, an action which had already cost him the job he loved and could ultimately cost him his freedom if he were to be criminally prosecuted.

Booth had managed to shrug off the question at the time, his current fixation limited solely to helping Brennan completely return to the land of the living. As of yet he had still had not resolved the issue in his mind, and so far no matter which way he approached the question the answer still made him a loser. He just hoped that when she was completely restored he could share with her everything that had happened, and together they could generate an answer he could live with. They would no longer be partners in an official capacity, but Booth knew there was no way she would let him go through this alone.

He rose and moved to return to Brennan's room, again turning the events over in his mind. Deep inside himself he knew the answer to Cullen's question. He knew he had done the right thing and that the doctor had failed miserably, because both his son and his partner were safe and that was more important than anything else. His character meant a lot to him, and he had prided himself since he was a young man for being above reproach in that respect. But he also knew that if he had an obvious choice between loosing either one of them or compromising his character and spending the rest of his life in jail, he might as well buy himself an orange jumpsuit. In both regards it was fairly safe to say that his life would never be the same.

_Bones and I aren't partners anymore, _he rationalized, _so it shouldn't be a problem to cross that damn line. Of course, I won't have a job and I'll have to call her my 'sugar momma'…_ His internal joke brought only a slight smile to his face, until he pondered her reaction to such a statement. It was then, thinking only of her and the endearing, confused look on her face that would result from such a phrase, that he finally laughed out loud. If indeed he did have criminal charges levied against him and was found guilty, simply knowing she was alive and well on the outside waiting to love him would make any sentence bearable.

_And besides, _he reasoned, _Bones is already familiar with at least one prison trailer used for conjugal visits…_

THE END


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